Ain't No Rest For the WICKED
by HopelesslyDaring
Summary: "It seems Group C was a more or less a success. They believe we put them in the Maze for 'their own good'," explained Ava, tracing the pictures of the subjects, "But they think they are the ones in power. They think they decide the fate of the world." She smirked and looked directly at me. "Go get Subject 'Amelia', will you, Janson?" My daughter? My little girl? "Yes, of course."
1. Group C

_**Hello friends, I'm M&amp;M if you didn't already know. I am the creator of this brilliant recreation of The Maze Runner. Great to see you've popped up.**_

**_Now, in The Maze Runner series, I cried my heart and eyes out when Newt died. I refuse to believe he actually died, so all my stubbornness went in to making this. In this story, you're gonna see twists and turns, backstabbing, and a whole different side of WICKED. They never gave up. Not on Thomas. Not on the gladers. And not on _****_Group C._**

**_~M&amp;M_**

_Chapter 1~ Group C_

Let's say that you made it. Let's just imagine that you lived long enough to escape with the great Thomas, WICKED's bundle of joy. Now, let's say you were one of the fortunate gladers, group A or B—doesn't matter. The first thing you'd remember at the beginning of your second life was darkness and the surrounding beats of an elevator shaft. That's how every glader's life started—including mine. If you think you know WICKED well, you've already proved yourself wrong. They are always one step ahead of everyone. Just as you think you've caught up, that's when your downfall occurs and the cycle repeats itself.

_Sick, isn't it?_

They were always more powerful than the rebel forces. Always. You think that one headquarter was their only weakness? WICKED has hundreds of da** headquarters all over the shuckin' world. To believe that it would be easy to pop the one pimple and be done with it was a huge understatement. I'd know.

The sound. The black. The cramped walls. They were the only things I could identify. The movement, yes. There was much movement. I didn't know what direction I was going, but I was awfully booking it there. Fortunately, I was allowed slivers of daylight to poke through wherever I was. I reached my fingers out, panting from the sweat in my hair and face. I wanted to touch the top of my shaft but couldn't quite reach it from the bottom of it.

I was ready to call out and scream when it came to a slovenly stop.

I reached out, and my fingers wrapped around a long rod. Grasping it, I sunk into the dark corner, ready to hit anything that came my way. Several seconds passed. I put a foot out to come out and large doors overhead shifted open. The floor was illuminated in sunlight. My corner remained unseen and dark. There was the moans of animals and nothing else.

"Well, there's _someone_ down there, shuck-face. Get your a** down there and don't disappoint," came the voice of a gruffly boy. Chuckles came next and a body lifted itself into my shaft. Gripping the rod, I silenced my breathing. It was a boy with long blonde hair. His skin was barely showing sun and held many freckles. Two green orbs that seemed to bounce as eyes spotted me.

"It's just another gir-"

I raced at him with the pole, ready to ran into his face. Seizing my arm, he held me away from him as I struggled maliciously.

"Calm down, greenie. We're not here to kill you or anything."

He threw me on the ground and jerked the rod out of my hands.

"Feisty one, eh?" remarked a voice from above. We both glanced up and saw many different people of both genders watching us. Struck by confusion, I stared on. The boy hauled me off the ground and and smirked at the people above.

"Just throw the rope down, Alby."

Not a second later, a long rope was thrown down, and the boy looked at me.

"Climb." Without hesitation, I began climbing up it to the top. There I gazed at the world around me. It was a lush garden overflowing with life. Small buildings and shacks were around the place, but what struck me as the strangest was the towering, bulky walls that welcomed me to hell.

The other boy must've climbed up too because he walked up to me, hands on his hips.

"Nice, huh? Welcome to the Glade, greenie girl." Oblivious to everyone and everything, I heard myself gasp. The boy smirked again.

I faced the strange boy and fumbled nervously.

"Who…Who am I?" He shrugged.

"Like I bloody know." I noted he had some sort of an accent. Though, I couldn't remember exactly what it was. I couldn't remember anything actually. My life was a hazy line of events I missed out on.

"Who are you?" I demanded. He perkily held out a hand, smiling cheekily.

"Newt."

Running was useless. There was nowhere to go, and I was surrounded by people. Unfortunately, my instincts didn't notice. I hesitated, looking around. Then, the ground became to shake, the sky was nearly falling. Giant doors opened, spraying dirt and rocks to anyone near them. I noticed passage away from the Glade or wherever I was. My elbow connected with Newt's nose, and he winced, stumbling back. That's when I made my move. I raced for the openings. Yells and chases created chaos behind.

Not once did I turn back. It was only a matter of time before I reached the doors. I went through and heard the scuffing of several feet. My body slowed, and I spotted several teenagers, including Newt, stop at the entrance. Instead of halting myself, I turned back around and raced through the walls, praying for answers and a way out.

**_thank you so much for reading my first chapter and please tell me what you think. I love feedback and I wouldn't even care for flames if that's what you're into. Thank you again and like, follow, or comment on this. Byeeeee!_**


	2. Breaking Barriers

_**Aw, thank you all!**_

**_Honestly, I'm surprised the story kicked up so quickly. Usually, I have to wait a week for one review. I promise you, though, that you won't be disappointed with this story. I was too excited to wait, so I put the second chapter up._**

_**I really**__**hope you're liking how it's going so far. I put a lot of surprises in here. It'd be cool to hear what you guys think will happen. Or just to hear you in general. Thanks for listening!**_

**_~M&amp;M_**

_Chapter 2~ __**Newt**__: Breaking Barriers_

I watched as the greenie girl took a lasting look before making a death wish. No one stepped in the maze and expected to live—not even the newbies. She broke rule number three on her first day: never go in the Maze unless you're a Runner. Fortunately, I was. My friend, Minho had appointed me a Runner the first couple days I arrived. The Glade had been alive for two years now. I wasn't letting a greenie girl come in and change that. Yeah, we had girls in the Glade—not many but some. They never acted like _that_ though. Most were Track-hoes or Cooks. Girls weren't allowed to be Runners. I glanced over at Minho who came up about a minute ago.

"Newbie?" he muttered. I nodded.

"She'll be dead by nightfall," Minho muttered. I folded my arms, shook my head and remained staring at the Maze.

"That's rule two, mate. Can't leave behind or hurt a Glader even if they haven't been here more than an hour. I'll go after her," I remarked. I began to move towards the shack with all our maps inside.

Minho walked with me.

"I'll come too, Newt."

I chuckled.

"What? So you can send her back down the Box to be killed for running away?" Minho rolled his eyes.

"No."

"Just let me deal with her. We'll stick her in the Slammer for a while." He didn't argue with me, so I assumed the decision was final. It didn't take long for us to reach that shack. I threw open the door and hunted for my stuff. I snatched my knife just in case we ran into some leftover Grievers. Minho snatched his too and strapped on his watch.

"Let's go before she gets herself killed."

We agreed and began running towards the doors. Gally shot me a look as we passed by. He was a tough guy who was there since the beginning. Gally kept to himself, but everyone in the Glade knew that if I wasn't in charge, Gally would be all the over the position. We couldn't allow him to own all the authority anymore because he's aggressive when it comes to keeping everything in order.

Finally, we raced through the doors determined to find the shuck-faced female.

_Chapter 2: Part 2~ __**Greenie**__: Breaking Barriers_

I hated tripping, skidding, and falling. It only increased my fear and heart rate. I crawled to my feet then felt along the monstrous walls. _Ignorant, moronic_, I told myself. I knew the minute I looked back at those strange people that I'd made a mistake walking into…whatever this place was. Hopefully, they'd let me die. I stumbled once more, collapsed, and cried out.

A snap reminded me of those last-minute mistakes. My arm went limp and seemed to be made of pain itself. A yelp escaped my lips when I tried to stand but quickly cut off.

There was a different sound. Climbing to my feet and cradling my arm, my feet moved before I did.

I moved down corridors and endless paths, never once looking back. Strangely enough, I heard that sound again.

It was clicking and rolling—like boulders.

Adrenaline replaced my blood stream. Breath just didn't seem like an option anymore. I froze by a wall when the sounds halted as well. Then, there was the moan of something unfurling, coming out of a shell.

The sound wasn't far away either. For the moment, I leaned against the grand walls, gasping for air and trying to remember something. Anything.

_If I'm gonna die_, I thought, _I'd at least like to know who I am._

As before, there was only cold blankness, toying with me.

I turned my head and saw it. The beast was a ghastly, inhumane thing.

Legs made of needle-like metal and claws as big as my head. A sludgy body was behind, right before a long bulbous stinger.

I couldn't help but stare as it clicked its way towards me. It was weird…looking at them. A small part in the back of my brain whispered the faintest de já vu about the things. Growing more than six feet over, it definitely was towering. I crawled back and set my head on the wall, willingly defeated.

The thing grew closer, looked straight at me too.

_Get it over with_, I said to myself. My stomach knotted and created such a tension that it almost hurt to be soothed.

Then, it stopped walking, clicked several times, and rolled down another hall without a care. Staring, I couldn't believe it. I was _spared_. Yet, it didn't even seem like that was true.

A second passed before I roamed back to my senses. I was in Hell, and I needed to run like it.

**_Again, thanks for reading this and please like, follow, and comment. See you later, Gladers_**


	3. The Born Leader

_**hey guys, again, I want to thank you for the awesome week you all have been giving me by reading this. I'm startibg to really get my crap together in this book and make it more organized than anything else that I have. That means actually organizing notes.**_

_**Anyway, you've been great to me and please keep it up. It's hard to keep stories up on the first page for long, so I'll try to update weekly from now on. Enjoy the chapter and R&amp;R!**_

**_~M&amp;M_**

_Chapter 3~ Newt: The Born Leader_

Running was all I'd ever known—racing, maps, timing the maze, and surviving cunningly. That was some of the requirements of a Runner. I was some of the first in the Glade. I just woke up one day surrounded by other boys who were just as confused as me. In the beginning, there was chaos.

We argued about who should go in the Maze, what happened before we arrived, and plain order itself.

Took nearly forever for us to set up the cute little system we had later it did. For the longest time, Gally ran the place then the Gladers appointed the position to me. I, on the other hand, knew exactly who to appoint it to next. My best friend, Alby. That shank was more leader material than I'd ever be.

The noise wasn't surprising or alien to us. We stopped, looked at each other, and skidded down another corridor. There was no telling where the shucking girl went. I felt along the wall, not mistaking the engraved W.I.C.K.E.D. press on every wall. They were sort of The Creators. That word was on everything that came up the Box. It confused us more than the Maze itself.

We had spent a year avoiding the things. We'd lost several Gladers to them. No one knew what to call them at first. They were like blobs of pain more like it. Yet, the one thing that always followed em was grief. What better than to call the shucking beasts Grievers? They scoured the Maze, happy at the top of the food chain. Some stupid shuck-faces first tried to face them and died horribly. They were all buried at Deadheads. I hated the buggin' things. We heard it quickly and raced through a corridor.

Minho took the lead and pulled us away from the noise.

When we'd first gotten to the Glade, Minho was almost stung by a Griever—would've been as dead as a door nail.

We panted, wiped away sweat, and cursed under our breath. The noise faded soon after. It was just Minho and I looking like idiots alone in the Maze.

"I'm gonna kill her if the Grievers haven't already," muttered Minho. I had to chuckle because, honestly, I was considering the same thing.

"We have to keep going." I caught my breath and moved to a different hall, memorizing the twists and turns consecutively.

"Got your head in the game, Newt, huh?" I didn't respond. The morning was settling in as I could tell. Frypan was probably making breakfast, and Alby was probably getting ready to send everyone off. The Glade was all I ever wanted while I was in the Maze. It made me want someone with me so I didn't have to die alone.

"Get your head out of the clouds. Gotta find the greenie." Minho's fingers snapped in front of my face, fully waking me up. The next half hour was filled with our shoes skidding across the stone floor. My eyes remained focused, glancing at the sky to check the time every once in a while. We'd gotten to another break when Minho's look warned me something I didn't want to hear.

"Newt, we have to get back to the Glade. Alby's going to be asking questions, and you still need to fix up that royal mess you made of the Slammer. Gally's gonna be waiting for you. I can't stay out here wasting precious time on a paranoid greenie. We tried, man."

The realization was what I wanted to block out, to ignore. Like I could do that. There was always more work to be done in the Glade. Minho was right. Rule number one was still important: Do your part.

"You're right." I dropped my hands and trotted back with him down the halls. Towering walls and barriers haunted and seemed to enclose me in a nightmare. "Sorry," I muttered. Minho said nothing and ran along with me.

My mind was resting on my first run on the way back. I was young with Minho still in charge. The day I heard of the position for Runners, I was interested. The Maze fascinated me more than the fact that we were surrounded by it. I was naïve to Minho's warnings of how dangerous it was. I became one soon enough because of my long legs.

After the first Runner died out there, Minho cut off the option to become a Runner to anyone. Of course, I was already made one by then. As frustrating as it was—as undeniably torturing it turned out to be, I still couldn't get enough of the Maze. Then, people started to die. Griever numbers increased, and fear was made known.

I wasn't supposed to _like_ the Maze.

I was supposed to fear it.

Like everyone else.

We stopped running for a minute. Minho snatched up his water bottle and gulped it down. Sweat tickled my forehead, and I had to brush it away quickly. The sky was the normal white and faded blue. My wristwatch read 11:28.

"We gotta get back soon or–"

A rock tumbled out from behind the wall. Just a small stone. We stared in that direction. The Griever. It had to be the Griever. We got to our feet and silently moved toward the wall. There was no whirring, clicking, or clanging of metal.

Then, out of the corner of my eye, I saw noticed a flash of warm brown. I stumbled to the other wall.

"The girl," I whispered, "It's her."

Minho nodded and joined me on the other wall. There were light footsteps.

I mouthed him, "Let's go." Again, he nodded, and I crawled to the other side.

The greenie was walking along the corridor, running a hand along the walls. She was an odd one. Sometimes you can tell about who you were before by your clothing. Most girl were in rags or guy's tunics. She was in a white ruffled blouse and a blue waist-high skirt with navy blue suspenders. The buttons of her skirt were pearl and she had brown combat boots that went to her mid-foreleg.

Girls never came dressed that nice.

Her dark hair was perfectly rolled into a low ponytail. I kept looking at her, confused and amazed. Minho bumped me accidentally, and I stumbled. I cursed in my thoughts. She turned around, exposing these cloudy grey eyes. They seemed to have every emotion aimed at us two. Minho came out from behind me. She took a hard look then took off running. I should've expected as much.

"Go!" I yelled. There wasn't a way she'd outrun us. Just as I was ready to pounce on her small body, she stopped and looked at me dead-square in the eye. The power of one look made me hesitate. She took that pause to her advantage and slid away from me, racing back in the direction of the Glade, not even knowing. As I raced after her with Minho at my side, I had to beat myself up. How could that one look make me hesitate? It just sent thousands of instantaneous memories back through my veins then vanished a millisecond later. It was pure hell. _Who is this greenie?_


	4. Rule 2

**Guys, this chapter is gonna be short, because I was trying to separate these evenly, and this is the only way. The next chapter is really long, so it'll even itself out. Thank you for all your kind words and I look forward to hearing more from you!**

**~M&amp;M**

_Chapter 4~ Rule # 2_

My feet were skidding across the ground, and I begged for grip. They found me. My heart had backfired and missed a beat or two. It was almost as bad as that giant monster's encounter. I pushed past the walls, feeling Newt close behind me. I'd been lucky enough to distract him the first time. Maybe not the second time.

I ran down a hallway and saw it had a dead end. I whipped around and readied myself to run, but they were already there to greet me. I latched onto the wall and attempted to climb. Angrily, the Korean boy threw me off, and my back hit the floor hard.

I cried out, grasping my injured arm. I tried to ignore it for so long, only using my good arm for anything. There was no denying it for that long though.

I succumbed to my whimpers and felt the pain assimilate me.

"Get up, greenie. You're going back." Tears wanted to form and expose themselves. I refused and pulled myself up. There wasn't any use running. I stared at Newt, sending the message that he was making a bad decision.

I tried to hit him again to get away, but Minho snatched the wrist of my bad arm; I screamed and he let go. I quickly cradled my wrist, now crying.

"It's broken," I muffled through sobs.

Minho nodded and pushed me into Newt. He grabbed my good arm and glared strongly.

"Gally's gonna kill us both," he muttered.

_Newt_

The entrance of the Maze had visitors. Gladers of all ages crowded around, glaring. I could already tell they wanted to demean the greenie as best they could. Minho shoved her out, and she stumbled in the grass.

"You got a play date with the Slammer once it's fixed," he spat.

The crowds remained cold silent. She watched Minho leave then looked at me without an ounce of sincere regret in her eyes.

"Newt, huh?" she said hoarsely.

I only stared, not sure if I should've been near her.

She got to her feet, looked around, and her eyes landed back on me.

"Rule two, remember?" Then, the girl crawled through the crowds and walked across the field, away from the Maze.

The crowd didn't hesitate while fanning out. I didn't look at her again. My only job was taking care of the Slammer—not the greenbean.


	5. Call Me Cott

**Told you this'll be a very long chapter. In this one, there's gonna be a lot new info to take in. But, it's my favorite chapter right now. Enjoy and R&amp;R.**

**~M&amp;M**

_Chapter 5~ Call Me Cott_

I didn't know what to think anymore. My emotions were a jumble, and I wanted to scream.

_How in the hell did I get here?_

I refused to look at the walls. They held more knowledge of what was going on than I did.

Looking at the boy, Newt, sent shivers down my spine. I knew him but definitely didn't want to. At the end of the day, I still had my life to return to. I was still just someone else who came up that elevator, right?

If you once ended up in that same position as I was in, you'd know I was right. At the end of it all, we were all just Gladers who knew nothing else of the world around them except that it was the closest thing to home as they would get.

Hell, I still didn't know who I was much rather home itself. That I forgot.

I stopped walking, looked at the sky and sat down in the long grass. Then, not caring if I died right there and then, I laid on the ground and held my arm as if it was a child. I wanted no help for the now dulling pain. I wanted nothing from anyone but silence.

Maybe I got more.

She was very tall, very skinny, and very sunny. She walked up, looked at me like I was just another casual thing and plopped herself right next to me. I couldn't help but notice her bright orange jacket that reflected sunlight back at others. The girl's hair was brighter than the sun and long in uneven strands. Her skin was a frail white, and her eyes were these mousy blue pinballs that bounced around constantly. I didn't even know her yet I liked her.

"I don't think I liked the sun very much—never did me good anyway." Her voice was like her appearance, bold and canny to me.

"Though," she remarked, "I do find the moon quite favorable. Such a pity I'm not allowed to see it as long as the sun anymore. Sometimes I think it's like people—we only come out when we feel it's absolutely necessary. Any other time would be being friendly, and we both know the moon and the human race are not friendly things."

I lurched up, tired of her small chat.

"Who are you?" I began. She smiled, exposing white teeth that matched everything else bright in her anatomy.

"Cott. People call me Cott. Not if you consider teenage boys and a group of hopeless romances '_people_'."

She got up and set her hands in her lap happily.

"I'm just going to assume you're some infuriatingly optimistic girl who thought it'd be funny to talk to the new girl," I snapped. Cott smiled and shrugged.

"I'm more like the oldest girl in the Glade who's wondering why in the hell you're lying in the middle of the grass," Cott remarked. I didn't want to smile, but I did for a bit.

She rolled her jacket sleeves up. Cott got her feet.

"You have guts running in the Maze like that. I did too." My eyes loomed over her height.

"Don't think you're the first greenie who's thought the Maze was a way out. Girls just don't do that a lot. We have a lower _testosterone_ than dudes," she said, "I ran out there without as much as a look back, and I was stuck in there all night. Alone. Then, I got stung by the d*** Grievers. Died I almost did. But sooner or later, I got the serum and went through the Changing."

I stared at Cott like she was speaking a different language.

"Those things out there—Grievers is what we call em. They got these stingers, and they can prick you right in the shucking back when you're not looking. You only got a matter of minutes to make it out before you collapse and die. Luckily, my a** was near the doors, and I made it. They inject you with this Grief serum, and you go through this horrific spasm called the Changing."

I grimaced and stared on. This girl was absolutely mad.

"The only thing worthwhile about the Changing is that you remember parts of your past life—of WICKED," Cott finished.

WICKED.

It sounded so familiar yet I'd never heard the word in my life. Not the way Cott said it.

"You remember?" I whispered. Cott shook her head sadly.

"Barely. It's faded mostly. I only remember things as a kid. Family moments."

Cott's words were dripping with regret and sudden sorrow.

"I think…I might remember…" she began.

"What?" I asked, alarmed. Cott hesitated before even considering to answer.

"Nevermind. It's nothing. So, greenie, what should I call you?"

My name. I didn't even know my name. It was buried under crumbles of rubble—dangerous to uncover.

"I don't know. Not yet." She smirked.

"Took me a while to find my name too. For right now, I'll call you…" Cott drew her words out aimlessly.

"Heart," she remarked. I had to smile. It felt good, comforting. I wasn't a nobody now. I wasn't much of a stranger. I was Heart. At least _she_ was someone.

Cott explained the Maze quite easily. She explained the Glade, WICKED, and what it was like before as well as she could. Normally, I had an abundance of questions. She answered them with an everlasting smirk. When we transitioned more in depth, personal questions were hard. I suddenly wanted to know everything and do something about it.

"I did good things before this all. I remember puzzle pieces of my life. I was in a contingent of rebels. I didn't lead, but my part was pretty big. I remember friends who died at the hand of others—of WICKED. I remember loving my life. That's it." It got me thinking about my past. Who in the hell was I?

"Newt says you can tell a lot about a person by their clothes. I came in this jacket, so I guess being a rebel makes sense," she laughed.

My loose blouse and skirt looked pretty formal. Maybe I was someone important.

"It doesn't matter though. None of it does. We aren't who we were before the Maze. You need to understand that." In a way, I did. Yet, the feeling of loss still hung around my neck like a noose. Cott propped herself up and helped me off the ground.

"I should get you back. I heard about your time in _jail_ tonight." I didn't protest. It'd be better to face them than let my stubbornness control me any longer. I kept my eyes averted from the Maze entrances.

A Korean boy who I'd seen in the Maze approached us.

"So, Greenie slimmed it?" he began.

"She slimmed it alright. You can get her to Medjacks and fix that arm she's got." My arm! I nearly forgot about it through the chaos I put myself through. My ears perked up afterwards. _How did Cott know about my arm in the first place?_

The boy nodded and walked towards a tall building surrounded in deep grass.

"Who are you?" I muttered.

"Minho," he said, "Name's Minho. What about you?"

I tried to settle comfortably.

"Cott calls me Heart, so I guess that'll do for right now." Minho smirked.

"I'm guessing she helped you out because that was shucking stupid." I smiled to humor him. Inside, I knew he was precisely right.

"She said who I was didn't matter anymore. I'm a new person," I told the boy. He shrugged.

"More or less. Cott's right. Once you climb out of the Box, it's like you have a second chance to change whatever you were. Here we don't care if you were an innocent, part of WICKED, or, hell, WICKED itself. It doesn't matter because we're all equal in the Glade. We're idiotic shucking klunk-heads. That's right."

It was a small room with a bed by the window. The cabinet wasn't completely stocked, but it was enough considering we were in the middle of nowhere.

Medjacks were as much doctors as they could make up. There were three girls and one boy. The Keeper (like the leader) was a tall Asian girl with curly, short black hair. She had a sweet voice that could turn as cold as ice in a second. She checked out my arm, confirmed it was only pulled out of its socket. The girl, who I learned was Bart, gave me a grim look.

"It's gonna hurt," she remarked. I swallowed hard and nodded.

"Just get it over with."

Fear crept into my finger tips when she called to another Medjack over to hold my shoulders still. The girl grabbed my arm, without hesitating, and pulled out. A yelp escaped my lips when it fell back into the socket. The pain released, but the soreness remained.

My eyes trailed to the door, and I spotted the blonde boy Newt. He came a bit closer.

"She's good. A few cuts and bruises but nothing serious." Those words could've been good or bad. I was glad I lived but scared to go back out there.

Newt held out a hand to help me up, but I climbed up myself. He brushed it off and eyed me closer.

"Slammer'll be done in an hour. _You're_ coming with me," said Newt.

I smirked despite my uneasiness.

"If you plan on telling me how upset you are, how I was idiotic, it's not going to work. I know what I did."

Newt shook his head.

"I could've banished you if I wanted to! You have no right to go out there, greenie-"

"My name isn't greenie! I don't know where I am, why I'm here, and how I plan to get out!" I yelled back. The silence spurred out next. I stared into his anxious green eyes.

"You don't think any of us felt like that either? The only way to survive is to put that fear behind you and be a Glader. Alright?"

An hour later, I was walking with Newt next to me. The Slammer was bigger than I imagined. Most of it was like a ditch or a hole to put one in.

"Home sweet home," Newt remarked, pushing me ahead. I glared and slipped inside the cage covering. Newt fumbled with locking the door, and I had time to peer around. It was made up of dirt, darkness, and unbelievable, freezing air. I shuddered and came closer to the door and Newt.

"I'm not going to apologize."

"I don't expect you to," he said without an ounce of hesitation.

He finally secured the bonds on the opening and tested it out.

"How long am I staying here?" I snapped. He folded his arms and stood up.

"The whole night I suppose." Newt began to walk away, and I panicked. That was all it was! I was just panicking.

"Wait!" I called desperately.

Newt looked back at me and came closer.

"What, greenie?"

I swallowed hard.

"My name isn't greenie. It's Heart." Newt paused, his eyes flickered suddenly in the darkness.

"Heart," he whispered to himself, "night."

**Okay. I kinda wanted to give you guys a bit extra info about the new characters in this chapters. Something cool that you can chew on until the next chapter.**

**• Bart, the pretty, Asian Med-jack introduced in this chapter is not going to be a main character I think, but she still has input in the story. Like all my other characters, she is based off of the revolutionary and courageous Clara Barton hence the nickname Bart.**

**• Cott, the quirky but wise girl that becomes unlikely friends with the main character IS going to be a main character that has a big effect on the storyline. She will appear frequently, so gear up for her! Cott is based off the rebellious leader who wasn't afraid to speak up for what she believed in, Louise May Alcott hence the nickname Cott.**

**• Heart, the mysterious greenie who seems to have taken many qualities of a born leader is the main character in this story. Now, Heart isn't actually her implied name because Cott gave it to her. Due to this Heart will not search for her real name and it won't be revealed until later on. The name change doesn't really change her much. She still relates to many characters in odd ways. I like her a lot because of her past and her potential for the future. She is based off of the inspiring leader Amelia Earhart—not only because of her personality but for her actions later that come that Amelia Earhart once did herself.**


	6. Amelia Earhart

**I've noticed that we've taken a couple hits lately. Where I live it's been snowing like spreading wildfire. My alerting authors on this site haven't updated anything in a while, so I guess it's been understandably but not excusably slow for this month. In my case I've already prepared these works, so I shouldn't have to worry. I'm really happy about the last chapter—not because of the popularity (it didn't get much)—but because of it's meaning. Even in the darkest of times, light manages to slip through the black hole...even though that's scientifically improbable and impossible. Enjoy guys!**

**~M&amp;M**

_Chapter 6~ Amelia Earhart_

**WICKED's Monthly Report:**

As a reminder, we have created Group C as an extra test before placing both groups into separations of their own. We set a goal for this whole group to show signs of quick improvement since they have a larger variety of talents.

It seems subject "Amelia" is tearing our growth down.

She was placed in Group C as another "glader" but has shown signs of obscurity on many ranges.

WICKED has come to a conclusion on subject "Amelia". She needs to be examined more carefully; her reactions towards danger needs to be analyzed.

WICKED's results should be anything but biased. Subject "Amelia" may translate the outcome towards this result. So, as we discussed, if her behavior affects any one of the surrounding subjects in a way that would not be acceptable, we will execute subject "Amelia" from the Maze Trials and all further experiments. Until we must make this decision, the rest of our plans are running smoothly. We should be able to carry on up to the separation later on.

It was a beach-blonde fool who woke me up by singing some loud, obnoxious song that rang through the Glade. She walked towards me, kicking up dirt with her boot.

"Morning, sweet_heart_," she chuckled.

My eyes hesitated when opening. That was most likely because of the new brightness of the sky. Humoring her wasn't one of my priorities. The only thing that had my attention was the bonds on the door.

"Just get me out of here," I groaned.

Cott crouched next to the door and untangled the knots.

"Ya know, we need to work on your people skills. Sociality isn't your forte I presume. In my opinion, I see you as more as the rogue, badass kind of gal—not so much as a perfect person. I like badass though. Badass is cool."

Cott yanked one knot free and began working on the next.

"I could help you. It seems to me that making friends will be a challenge. Friends—allies—is a smart thing to have in the Glade especially since you're a newbie and your first impression wasn't exactly amicable."

Finally, the last knot was untied, but before I was able to extricate myself, she handed me a pair of clothes.

"Thought you might want to change out of those princess clothes."

I snatched them away and began to undress into them.

"I'm gonna show you around here—introduce you to a couple people. I think it might be good for your reclusiveness. I'm only trying to help you. Remember that. Anyone else would've left you in that getup." After I was dressed, I tossed that stupid blouse and skirt into the Slammer and climbed out. I was in a soft, denim-patterned button-up. I also wore skinny jeans that cut off mid foreleg. After pushing my hair away, I looked up at the smiling Cott.

"You talk a lot," I remarked.

A glimmer of chivalry flashed in her eyes.

"Only because there's so much that hasn't been said."

Cott seemed to know the Glade like it was tattooed to her hand. Most people greeted her kindly—others avoided eye contact. One boy, who I learned was Oscar, greeted Cott like she was his sister. He was, what I learned, a Track-hoe. He was in the fields when we met. Oscar had curly, ashy hair and hazel glimmering eyes. He was very attractive and smiling almost the whole conversation though he was exhausted and sweaty from the sun.

"By the way, Gally was looking for Heart." Cott's smile dropped, and it was as if the air grew colder.

"I'll get her there. Bye, Oscar," she muttered.

Then, Cott walked away, and I followed.

"What was _that_ about?" I asked, sensing a cold relationship with her and whoever Gally was.

"Gally is _not_ your friend. Just remember that, and you'll be okay. Explaining anything won't help."

Shaking off my curiosity, I refused to dwell on that uncomfortable feeling created.

The Glade was much bigger than I would've presumed it to be. The fields were stocked with tired boys and a handful of girls. Each was crouched in the grasses, pulling weeds or planting crops. Cott looked out at them as we passed.

"Hey," I began, "what do you do here? You never told me," I asked her.

"I wanted to be a Builder, but I was made a Cook. My food's not repulsive, so I'm guessing that's why I'm one." I looked ahead and spotted a group of Bricknicks including Gally. He wasn't a Bricknick according to Cott, but I guess he was helping. A boy separated from the others. Then, I could tell it was Gally.

He had short, dirty gold hair and tanned skin. His eyes were a sharp azure that pierced my own. He had a rolled-up brown shirt and dirty brown pants. There was something intimidating about the boy—something that made me take a step back.

He came up quick and wiped his hands on his pants.

"This the greenie?" he barked.

"Yeah," Cott muttered, not looking him in the eye at all. Gally looked at me, and I held my tongue from asking what happened between them.

"I'm guessing they told you how stupid you were to do that, yeah?"

I nodded quickly, scared to anger him. If he had gone after me in the Maze, I might've stopped.

"You spent the night in the Slammer too, yeah?"

I nodded again.

"Don't talk much I see," he remarked sarcastically.

"I only say the things that need to be said," I told him without a hesitation.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Cott's glimmer of a smile.

Cott said, "I presume you can handle Heart here. I'll get out of here."

She turned on her heel and strode off, hands in that orange jacket.

Gally watched her leave all the way. When Cott was out of sight, his eyes averted to mine.

"So, what'd she say your name was again?"

"Heart."

He looked me over.

"Alright. I'm gonna bring you over to the Track-hoes. We'll see if you're any good there." Though my questions bubbled in the back of my head, I followed Gally out to the Gardens.


	7. Oscar Wilde

**Hello, fellow Gladers! I'm geared up about this chapter because I'll have little explanation of a new character down at the bottom. Hope you have a good week and enjoy this chapter!**

**~M&amp;M**

_Chapter 7~ Oscar Wilde_

"I'm Gally, by the way."

I didn't bother to speak much. My mind was on the Gardens. Oscar was crouched over, yanking out weeds. A smear of dirt on his cheek made me smile. He lifted his head as we approached and waved.

"Hey, Heart,"

My face flushed pink, and I instinctively tucked a strand of hair behind my ear.

Gally noticed and pulled us to the other direction.

"I'm taking you to Zart. He's the keeper for the Track-hoes. I'm the keeper for the Builders, so you'll see me later today." Gally pointed to a tall, broody boy who was stringing bean plants on a wood rod.

"Go over there, Greenie,"

Gally pushed me forward, and I stumbled to keep my balance. Without looking back at him, I made my way to Zart. His messy black hair was a bit greasy, and he was dirty as well, but I still felt nervous.

"You're Zart, right?" I asked, coming closer.

The boy lifted his head, and I noticed a pair of dark, droopy eyes looking back at me.

"Yeah. You're the greenie, eh?"

"My name's Heart," I muttered under my breath.

"Well, firstly, welcome to the Glade," he remarked, "Gally threw you over here, yeah?"

"Yup."

"He wants me to see if you're Track-hoe worthy. Come here." I climbed over the grasses and next to him.

"See what I'm doing with the plants? Those poles down the row need to be stung with the plants underneath them. Take these ties and _softly_ wrap them around the vine when it starts falling. It's simple, Greenie," he explained.

I took the ties and began to do as he did.

Gally came quicker than I expected him to. Zart and he talked in private for a bit before coming over to me. I'd finished fourteen poles.

"Let's go, Greenie. Time for cooking," Gally said, smirking my way. I crawled to my feet and followed him back to the Homestead. There was a building that functioned as a building. As we neared it, the makeshift door opened, and Cott came out.

"She's supposed to be out with the Bricknicks," Cott spat angrily. Her hair was wrapped in a bun on her head, and her hands were sticky with sauce and spices.

"I decided to throw her to you—let her see the importance of a _cook_."

Cott looked like she wanted to hit him in the face. Instead, she yanked me towards her. She slapped on a smug look and smiled.

"Fine." Then, she marched the both of us inside where another girl and a bunch of boys were cooking.

"What was that about?" I snapped. Cott threw her hands in a wooden bowl of water and washed off the substance on them.

"What are you even talking about?" she said like it was a regular question.

"I might be new, but I'm not blind," I protested.

Cott pulled her hands out of the water and continued to tenderize meat.

"Honestly, what is this thick-as-blood hatred you have for him?"

Cott laughed and handed me a burlap bag of flour. "Put some of that on your fingers and roll the dough into loaves.

I went to the station with the dough blobs.

"It's not a secret that something happened."

Cott made a quick movement with her head which could be accounted for as a tremble.

"I don't know what you're talking about. There never was—and never will be— anything going on between Gally and me."

"Bull," remarked a ginger boy across the room, washing his hands in a different bowl.

"Either you two love each other or furiously hate," he continued.

Cott's face flushed red.

"Take her to Frypan, Vince."

The boy ushered me over, and I came.

"Frypan's in the back working with the vegetables." He pointed him out to me.

I darted through the crowd of people and unusual smells of food. An African American boy was washing off peppers and green onions. I tapped on his shoulder, and the boy spun around.

"Frypan?" I began, "I'm the gree-newbie. I'm supposed to be training." He smiled and brought me over to his station.

"Let's get to work then."

I kicked up grass and dirt as we walked. It was almost evening but Gally wanted to fit in one more. Which one I didn't know, but I already knew which position I wanted to bear.

"Hey," I started, looking up at him, "we don't need to do any more training."

He slowed.

"What do you mean? Of course we do."

"No," I remarked, shaking my head and stopping. Maybe the silence was dangerous. Maybe it was promising. Probably both.

"I want to be a Runner." The words definitely came from my lips, but I never remembered saying them. Stunned, Gally proceeded to taking me to the next training location.

"I'm serious," I snapped, grading him arm. Venomously, he shook it off.

"Girls aren't allowed to be Runners. Anyway, you'd fail." My eyes narrowed.

"Really? I made it out in the Maze for a while and, in fact, I don't see you out there doing any running." Gally's mood darkened, and he pointed a stiff finger at me.

"Hold your tongue, Greenie," he growled, "I could be a Runner any day and still kick your a**. You're not being a Runner. That's final."

My face flushed beet red and my fingers trembled in anger.

"Let's just go."

My back was against a nearby tree as we slept. My body was huddled in a ball as I watched the blackened sky. It was difficult to sense any movement through the dark air. Bodies laid on the ground underneath wrinkled blankets.

My blanket covered my shivering legs. It wasn't too cold. I was terrified of the Glade. The Maze was equally entrancing and repelling. My eyes gazed out to an opening—the monstrous doors that held secrets right out of our reach. A body shuffled in the pile and woke. It peered at me and crawled over.

Almost instantly, I could tell it was Oscar. He wrapped the blanket over himself like a shawl.

"Hey," he whispered so that it was barely audible.

I rested my head on my knees, not feeling up to holding a conversation.

"I can't sleep either. Are you worried about the task you're gonna get?" he asked innocently.

"No. I don't care about the stupid tasks. I just…Everything's new. I understand that. Then, why am I so scared?"

He smiled enough that I could see.

"We were all scared the first week. Heart, you just got dropped off in the middle of absolute nothing with no recollection of your former life of which you know you had. To top it, you got a first-hand experience of the Maze _and_ you met Cott. I'd say you've dug yourself a pretty large hole that you can't fill yet. Fear is the first reaction when realizing the hole."

I scoffed and looked away sadly. I dug my hands in the grass angrily. I didn't want to be like the other Gladers—scared. Fear made people weak.

"What are you, a therapist?" I sneered. His smile remained.

"Just a friend, Heart."

Then, he climbed to his feet and left.

**_• Oscar— Oscar is a boy based off of the writer Oscar Wilde because of Oscar's creativity and willing to draw outside of the lines. At the same time, he can contain responsability and classiness. Oscar is going to be much bigger of a character than you think he will be. By the way, if you wanted to get sort of an idea of what my characters look like, look below._**

**_Oscar—Ansel Elgort_**

**_Cott—Gabriella Wilde/ Elle Fanning_**

**_Heart—Jodelle Ferland/ Georgie Henley_**


	8. Dying Stars

**Hello peoples! Wanna say that I love this new chapter because more Newt! and because it brings out a rougher, more oassionate side to Oscar. I hope you love it too! Byeee**

**~M&amp;M**

_Chapter 8~ Dying Stars_

The morning reminded me that I was still alive to witness all of the confusing secrets around me. Someone had to be taking satisfaction in seeing us struggle to survive. Was it the W.I.C.K.E.D. Cott had spoke of?

Whoever it was, I had no time to worry about them. Cott shook me awake, and I crawled out from under my blanket. The sky was barely bright. I'd slept a bit longer in the Slammer. Cott pulled me back to my senses. We'd finished the rest of the training yesterday. We'd gone until the last possible minute.

I think it was obvious Runner wasn't on the table. Cott was telling me how she had thought I'd probably be a Medjack or someone. None of that mattered in my opinion. One way or another, I was getting out in the Maze—Runner or not.

I saw Gally and Oscar arguing nearby the Homestead. It was loud enough for both of us to hear through the groggy yawns.

"She made it out longer than some greenies. Even Minho said she was difficult to catch," Oscar protested.

"Like I care! She could've killed seven Grievers. This freaking place is built on order, and no one becomes a Runner that quickly, that carelessly."

Oscar glared at Gally.

"That's it, huh? You screw up Cott. Now Heart, huh? You're a b**ch, Gally." Oscar gripped his plow and stormed off into the fields. His red cheeks and pepper-colored hair made him look like a walking campfire. It was enough to grab my attention. Yet, Cott turned away.

"Gally told me this morning. He wants you as a Track-Hoe," she sighed. My thoughts dropped to silence. I couldn't be angry or despaired.

"This morning?"

"Yeah. Right after I woke up. Track-hoes aren't bad at all. We depend on them more than you'd think—"

"I didn't sign up to be a da** Track-hoe. I need to be out there—finding some way out of this hellhole. Why…why would he…?" My words were lost in my sea of anger.

"Hey, don't get yourself worked up. He's not worth it," remarked Cott, "Right now, you need to meet Oscar. He'll help you out." I listened to her and left to the fields. Oscar was still fuming and furiously plowing a section of the ground. I made my way over, making sure not to step on any plants.

"Jeez, you're giving that ground a good beating." He didn't look up at all.

"You shouldn't be a Track-hoe," said Oscar. Why was he suddenly standing up for me? He didn't even know that I wanted to be one. My eyes drifted out to the Maze doors, just opening. What Gally said came to mind. _Girls aren't allowed to be Runners_. I guess they underestimated me. I looked back at Oscar.

"They don't want me to be a Runner. I'm not allowed to," I murmured through my teeth. This made him stop.

"Doesn't matter. You were in there longer than any other greenie. That's gotta mean something." There was a moment of hesitation. He looked deep into my eyes.

"You didn't _see_ anything in there, did you?" asked Oscar, suspicion peppering his voice. The image of the oblivious Griever crossed my mind. The moment when it was as if it didn't see me at all flashed into view.

"No. Nothing."

The day was spent with us planting the collected seeds from the last harvest and watering them nicely. Then, Oscar showed me how to collect the spices, and I strung a couple more beans. Not once was anything brought up. Oscar chatted about the first time he arrived in the Glade. He said he hurled right there and then which made me laugh. It was surprising when I heard my own laugh. I hadn't found much joy in the Glade since my arrival. He went on talking about how Cott met him. Apparently, he was dropping off flour over there after she'd been made a Cook. He remarked that she was cutting up the onions wrong, and she flicked flour in his face. It sounded awfully like her.

"She said she wanted to be a Builder. Why didn't that happen?" Oscar smile faltered.

"I don't think I should tell you just yet. It's not my story—it's hers. Let's just say, it started a feud," he explained.

"The feud between Gally and her?" I could tell it bothered him because he quickly changed the subject.

"Hey! Look at those heads of lettuce. Start weeding 'em, will you?" I rolled my eyes and moved toward them. I was prepared to begin when the large rumbling of the large doors announced the day's end. I watched as a single figure darted through the walls, being pat on the back by other figures. Interested, I stood and watched. As the figure came closer, I recognized him as Newt. He made way to the shed where all the other Runners went.

"I could be just as good as him," said I.

"Get your head out of the clouds, Heart."

I looked back at Oscar.

"I'll see you later, okay?" He shook his head, picking up the plow and wiping sweat off his forehead.

"No. Today was your first day on the job. I want you stay after till dark and weed a couple more of these plants then pick up any tools lying around," Oscar said, smiling like a champion.

"Alright." I crouched down, beginning to yank the sprigs free. Oscar approached, gingerly stepping over each crop.

"You did good today, Heart." I said nothing. I was too focused on releasing my anger on the weeds.

He left without another word. After that, time seemed to slip away. The sky had darkened not much longer. It was probably later than how long I was supposed to be out. My hands were filthy along with my clothes, and there was a cold sweat on my neck. My ankles were dried with mud as well.

"Sorry to interrupt your bubbling rage but it's time to get back, love," a voice interrupted. My eyes went to the lanky figure in the darkness. It was hard to make out a face but the voice was unmistakable. Newt.

"Go away," I remarked. There was a short moment of silence, and I almost actually believed he left.

Then, out of the corner of my eye, I noticed Newt was crouched down with me, plucking weeds out of the soil along with me.

"I wanted to be a Track-hoe. They made me a Runner because I have strong legs. Consider yourself lucky."

I opened my mouth to tell him off and maybe swear, but I closed it quickly. Now was not the time or the place.

"We both know I don't feel that way about the fields. We both know I want to be out there helping." It was obvious that it was his turn to remind me yet again that girls weren't allowed to be Runners. Instead, he took a deep breath and replied, "You'd make a good Runner, Heart."

It was amusing; I didn't expect him to agree with me; honestly, it made me feel warm in that freezing air.

Newt stopped pulling weeds and looked at the sky instead.

"Ever wondered why they let us keep the stars?" It took all I had not to stop yanking weeds. A few seconds passed of silence. I let him be for a while, rendering myself useless in shaking Newt out of his daze. Finally, he pulled himself away from the glittering sky and stood.

"Gally told me to come get you. You're as pale as the moon." He helped me up and wrapped a shawl around me. It made me flinch when he touched my skin. Yet, a shock traveled up to my neck. Whatever it was made me panic for an instance. We started walking back to the Homestead.

"You're not going to win me over that easily," I muttered through chilled breaths. Newt smiled and looked ahead.

"I know, love."


	9. The Soldier

**Hiii! I just found out some awesome news about the Maze Runner! Thomas's real name is Stephen! I think I'm gonna use this information sooner or later. Hope you like this cool chapter. If you're interested, play this song while reading to set the mood:**

**_Hard Time Killing_**_**Floor**_**_ Blues—Chris Thomas King_**

_**~M&amp;M**_

_Chapter 9~ The Soldier_

I missed dinner, though, it didn't matter. I wouldn't have eaten anyway. Cott sat with me at the table, fiddling with a daisy chain as the bonfire raged on. Most of everyone were by the large fire, chatting and laughing. We were a bit farther away and shaded.

"You're still uptight about this place, aren't you?" she remarked. I stared at the table then my hands. I didn't want to face Cott.

"I figured it would take about a week to get used to this." Cott passed the daisy chain over to me. It was braided beautifully and not too delicate.

"Here. I think you should go over to Minho. Talk to him." I picked up the daisy crown and put it on my head. It was perfect. I climbed up and found Minho alone by a log bench. His dark diligent eyes were fixated on the dancing flames in front of him. I stepped up to him and coughed to get his attention. He looked over, a bit surprised I was standing there.

"Heart, right?" I nodded and sit next to him.

"Cott sent you here I suppose." Again, I nodded.

"I needed to talk to you anyway. I need to tell you something." He looked at me and brushed off his hands. Minho sat up and faced me properly.

"What's up?" he asked. The smell of alcohol was thick on Minho's breath. He was drunk. I knew I should've told Oscar before Minho, but Oscar had no business in exactly what happened in the Maze.

"I saw a Griever in the Maze." He shrugged.

"So? We see them all the time."

"And it saw me…" This made Minho silence. His eyes were now focused directly on me, as if I was a puzzle difficult to unravel.

"Then, you should be dead right now…" I nodded, urging myself on.

"Exactly. I should be dead. It locked eyes with me, came up to me, and yet, it moved away like I wasn't there at all." I gave him a number of seconds to let the information sink in.

"Why didn't you tell anyone about it?" he blurted.

"You're the da** Keeper. You deserve to know more than the other shanks. I don't know what this means at all." Minho clenched his fist, frustrated at something.

"I don't either, but we can't tell anyone. They find out, they'll start thinking you're hiding more than that. This place will fall to anarchy," he explained. I was the one surprised now. He was missing the point.

"I need to be a Runner, Minho. Something's happening. There may be a glitch in those things that we haven't come across yet. Not to mention, I outran you two shanks." Minho seemed as if he wasn't listening at all. His mind was set on trying to keep that moment a secret. I could hardly believe him. Fear of other Gladers and strong alcohol was clouding his judgement of getting out of the Maze.

"You can't be serious," I muttered, "You can't sit here, sparing other people's feelings, while a clue is standing right in front of you." He didn't reply at first. Only until I stood to leave did he speak. His eyes blackened, and his voice seemed to take on a frightening growl.

"You're different," he murmured suddenly emotionless, "You're the Soldier."

After this, his eyes softened, and he looked at me normally.

"So, how's Track-hoeing going for you?"

_Different? How was I different? What did he mean by Soldier? _Questions swarmed through my sub-conscience._ What was wrong with him? What was wrong with me?_

I couldn't understand what any of it meant, but maybe he was right. Maybe low-key was the best thing for me right now. So, I plowed, planted, and silently envied the Runners. They came back every day, and that shack was the first place they went. What was in there? I asked myself one afternoon. My plow was loosening the stiff ground for the next crop to be planted. Another group of Runners was making their way to the building. I stopped working and watched. I did that every day—just for a moment I lived like a Runner. It was close as I was going to get. My eyes spotted Minho leaving the place. He shot me an indifferent look and carried on his way.

"Not a chance, sweetheart," snapped a voice behind me. I let out a small gasp and whirled around. Gally stood there in all his pride and selfish glory. I took a little breather to calm myself down.

"What in the hell are you doing here?" I snapped, trying to look menacing with my plow. _You're a real savage, Heart_ I thought sarcastically. Gally smirked and walked over the ground I'd worked hard to unearth.

"I wanted to invite you to a little fun—a get-together if you will. We do it for every greenie." I cocked my eyebrow and watched him.

"A get-together?" I suspiciously asked. He nodded, digging his hands into his pockets.

"Yeah, you deserve it for your first week here. It's tonight at the Homestead. There'll be a bonfire and everything. You'll _love_ it."_ Greenies got welcoming parties? _It seemed suspicious, but I wasn't going to go against some relaxation." I smiled, attempting to loosen the awkward bonds that Cott had tied between us.

"Okay, I'll come." Gally's smirk turned into a smile, and he nodded.

"Awesome," he remarked, walking off to the Bloodhouse. I didn't do much more. My mind was glued to that celebration even if it wasn't much.


	10. You Ain't Scared…

**hello guys! Just wanted to say I put this story up on Wattpad. It'll take me a bit to post enough chapters to get caught up here. Meanwhile, enjoy this chapter. I promise it's good :D**

**~M&amp;M**

_Chapter 10~ You Ain't Scared…_

The darkness crept in, and I followed Oscar back to the Homestead. I didn't tell him or anyone about what Minho said. First, I needed to figure out what it meant myself. Cott was the first to meet up with me.

"Hey, did the others throw you a party when you came?" I asked. The girl shrugged.

"They might've. I probably wouldn't have attended," she muttered dully. The bonfire was starting, and food was being passed around. I barely ate like expected but instead watched the event going on a couple yards away. There was a section of the field used as a sort of arena. Boys were crowded around, cheering and socializing. In the circular center, was Gally, wrestling with another boy who was attempting to fight back; his endeavors were worthless compared to the strong Gally. The boy was shoved out of the circle, and other boys were making bets and paying up to each other. I smirked and turned my attention back to Cott who was trying to tell a story about the time a Griever got ahold of one of their cows. It was hard to pay attention. Out if the corner of my eye, I noticed Newt was leaning on a nearby log not partaking in the testosterone-reeking game. He was just holding onto his bottle of water, watching the Maze doors. My eyes narrowed when I noticed his actions. It's not like he can flaunt his-

"Hey, Greenie," shouted a deep voice. My eyes flickered to the owner. They landed on Gally in the middle of the small arena looking drunken with pride. _Why was he calling me?_

"Come here," Gally taunted. I took a look at Cott who was staring at Gally too. Without delay, I got up off the log and approached him.

"What?" I asked. All eyes were on us. It seemed as if the darting flames were the only thing making noise. His artificial smirk returned to its natural place.

"Greenie like you deserves this night. It's done us well you showing us that anyone can be stupid _and_ brave."

Chuckles traveled around the group, so I smiled to hide my frustration at that comment.

"But, in all honestly, you're pretty cool. You're a running rebel—a _Soldier_." I flinched at that word. It bothered me so much since that incident.

"So, hopefully you'll make it for the rest of the month. Live long and get through the Maze. Good that?" he exclaimed.

The people around started to mumble happy "Good that"s. I allowed myself to smile. Maybe it wasn't hell in the Glade. Suddenly, Gally's smirk twisted into an evil smile that made my relief drop.

"Now, c'mon, Greenie. Show me what you got." He put his fists up in a fighting position, and my eyes widened.

"What?" I squeaked. He chuckled violently.

"Fight me. Every greenie does it." I turned back to Cott who was wide awake and wide-eyed like me. Slowly, she shook her head, and my stomach dropped.

"Don't you ever want to be a Runner? Can't if you can't take this, sweetheart." Then, a flicker of spark rose where my fear lied. It was like a tiny match lighting.

"You aren't scared, are you?" he taunted, earning slaps on the back and chuckles from nearby Builders. With as much courage and mettle as I could upheave, I put my tiny fists up and glared at him. A round of cheers erupted from the boys, and Gally seemed pleased. Then, he advanced, and my bravery dropped into a pit. His first lunge I evaded going under his muscled arms. The crowd cheered, and his figure turned back to me. I ducked his first punch and returned up at the wrong time. His fist connected with my shoulder, and pain erupted like firecrackers. I clutched my shoulder. Gally took the chance to elbow me in the stomach. I wearily ducked his next attack and rammed my elbow in the back of his head. He then yanked me to face him, pulled back his large rock-like fist, and hit me square in the face. The shock and terrifying pain kissed my face as I stumbled back into the crowd. Instead of falling and being finished with, Gally pulled me back like a rag doll. I was kicked, punched, thrown. It didn't seem like a game anymore. My hearing was deafening, and the scene grew inaudible. I couldn't speak. I could barely breathe. Just as I was about to let the pain suffocate me, a figure yelled for it to stop. I was dropped and hit the ground terribly. As my head connected with the ground, I could make out blonde hair and the words "bloody hell". Then, things went dead.

"Hey, get away, slinthead."

"She's dead. I knew it."

"Get off, shuck-faces!"

I couldn't see a thing. I didn't even know if I was alive. Everything was so numb. I attempted to grasp consciousness, but it was fuzzy and miles away from reach. There was no way. Instead, I could listen. There were no voices anymore. Footsteps grew softly louder and perceivable. Then, floorboards creaked and silence again. Suddenly without warning, I felt a calloused, warm hand grasp my own. It was hard to feel the hand fully since I was still so far away. Then, a lovely voice spoke.

"Hey, I remember that sometimes coma patients hear things in their sleep. Just wanted to make sure my little slinthead was doing alright." The voice was trying to be soft despite its constant trembling.

"Heart," it began, trying to regain seriousness,"that moment you stepped out of that Box, I could feel a relationship—a connection. Somehow, you mean something to me. That's why I couldn't let Gally beat the shuckin' hell out of you."

_Who was this person? _

I yelled at myself to wake up. I didn't know if it was Newt, Minho, or anyone really. The voice grew softer, and the little strength I had left quivered.

"I'm sorry," it said then disappeared. The voice slipped through my fingertips and evaporated into nothingness. Once again, I was alone, so I succumbed to sleep.


	11. The Names

**Hey, just wanted to tell you chapter 2 is up on Wattpad. I'll be updating every week. This chapter is an awesome one and is one of the first climaxes of the story. I really wanted this scene to be a special one and show more about Cott than your first impression of her.**

**At first, I had no clue where to place the scene; but this place seemed suitable. Anyway, enjoy!**

**~M&amp;M**

_Chapter 11~ The Names_

By the time I woke up, it was a challenge to remember anything that went on the night before. All I could recall was being hit hard and falling on the ground. I could also see the bonfire and golden hair. Those words, though, they were branded into the back of my mind. _Who was that person?_

My eyes were the first things that opened. Sunlight didn't bother them that much. The massive pain was the problem. I hissed at the pain and grasped my head. The uncomfortable pangs attacked me from all angles. Bruises kissed my arms and legs. There was a painful bruise covering my right eye, and it ached to open it. Everything hurt.

I crawled to my feet and used the blanket as a shawl around my purple arms and blacked shoulders. Silently and gingerly, I crept to the main room. The room was empty and a bit dark. So, I ran back to the bed and put on my boots. There was little daylight left, so I dropped the shawl, left the Homestead, and made my way to the fields. Oddly, no one noticed me. Only when I did get to the fields was I spotted. I snatched up a weaved basket and began to harvest the tomatoes. They weren't all ready but they'd ripen with time.

"What in the hell are you doing out here?" barked a voice. I spun around and saw Oscar staring at me as if I was the crazy one.

"I'm gathering food—something you should be helping me do." I returned to plucking the fruit. He, on the other hand, didn't move an inch.

"You're supposed to be in the Homestead. How did you even get out here?" Oscar exclaimed, throwing his arms up to emphasize his surprise.

I shrugged nonchalantly. I didn't know why he was so upset. It was just a couple bumps and bruises…My eyes trailed to my hands. The purpled spots seemed to disagree.

"No one was in the building with me."

Oscar groaned and grabbed at his face.

"I told Alby to watch you till Cott could get there. That slinthead," the boy remarked.

I didn't pay attention much. Instead, I picked the tomatoes until the basket was filled. Then, I shoved it into his arms and grabbed another.

"Get back to the Homestead."

"No," I retorted solemnly. Oscar sighed and put down the heavy basket. I could tell my stubbornness bothered him greatly. Too bad.

"Gally's being punished."

This made me stop. Gally. I remembered it. The night of that stupid get-together flashed through my memories. It was never meant as a celebration. Gally _wanted_ to hurt me. I could even recall him saying "you'll _love_ it" in that mocking-sort-of way. Anger bucketed over me.

"Where is the bastard?" I growled. Oscar didn't look angry along with me at all. He looked like he actually _pitied_ Gally.

"He was extremely lucky that he wasn't banished. He had someone stand up for him. So, instead Alby put him somewhere else. He's in the Slammer alone."

_Someone stood up for that warthog?_ I asked Oscar, and he replied in a cold hiss.

"Cott."

Almost everyone in the Glade knew that if Cott had the chance to spill some blood, she'd jump right at it—especially when the blood belonged to Gally. So, it didn't make sense that my friend stood up for the boy who put me in a coma for—according to Oscar—two days time. Cott was scornful towards Gally. She hated, despised, loathed him. _Why would she plead his case then?_

"Where is she?" I growled, scanning the Glade for the blonde. Oscar shrugged nonchalantly.

"No one's seen her since you fell into that coma." Usually, it wouldn't bother people, but the Glade wasn't a big place. If they searched everywhere then she–

"Oh sh**," I murmured. Oscar eyes brightened, and he moved quickly moved in front of me.

"What?" Terrible. That was all I could think of. It was my fault if my guess was right. I growled in frustration, wanting to kick something over with all my might.

"You guys checked everywhere, right?" Oscar nodded, and my stomach dropped. It was my fault that Cott was going to die now.

"Cott's in the Maze."

The look Oscar was giving me was a mixture of confusion, fear, and shock. It stuck like glue until I shook him out of it. Whether I was right or not was a mystery. Despite my doubts, the possibility couldn't be ruled out. Cott was my friend. Well, I guess she was my best friend. Honestly, it was hard to tell who else was my ally. Cott, though, was my first friend since I made it out of the Box. For Christ's sake, she gave me my name! I couldn't lose her to the stupid Maze. I couldn't lose her at all. Oscar spoke up.

"How do you figure?" His voice came out like a lifeless croak. I almost forgot for a second that Oscar knew Cott much much longer than I ever did. She was like his sister. After remembering that, I was at a loss for words.

Finally, I found myself saying, "It must've been the incident at the celebration. Cott must've been so angry with Gally and the Glade that she wanted out—no matter what. She did what I did." The story was hard to believe but, knowing Cott, very possible.

Oscar stared at me with hints of depression in his eyes.

"Cott's the only reason I stopped." He raced off to the shack leaving me dumbfounded. The words were inevitably mind-racking and haunting. _Stopped?_

The need to throw down my duties and go after the Track-hoe was undeniable; but, it was obvious he didn't want to be bothered. Instead, I finished up and made my way over to somewhere else. Alby called it the Wall. I never visited it before because I always had better things to do. This time I walked towards it nonchalantly. It was a slab of wall that had a names etched in the stone. Some were crossed out, and that made me hesitate. Well, something else made me hesitate also. There was a person huddled at the base of the Wall. They were curled up in a ball, obviously crying. The muffled sobs tore at my heartstrings. At the same time, I could breathe with ease. The person was skinny, awkward, and had a mop of sunshine blonde hair.

"Cott?" I whispered kneeling next to her crumpled body. She lifted up her head. The red, droopy eyes she had alarmed me. It didn't like any Cott I'd ever known. She had a depressed look on her face. Cott was worn, sore, and motionless.

"What happened to you?" I muttered, trying to hold her attention. It didn't help. Her head fell back onto the wall and an odd-looking smile made its way to her.

"I stood up for Gally," her murmured, her voice gurgling with tears. I nodded, trying to hold her hand. I got ahold of it and held on for dear life.

"I know. Oscar told me." By the mention of his name, Cott's smile became more genuine—more Cott. A dead, monotone chuckle emitted from her chest. I couldn't understand what made her so lifeless—so weak.

"You were right. I hate Gally's guts for a reason…I do." It would've been unwise to interrupt her at that time. All I wanted to do was get her back to the Homestead; she needed as much help as she could receive. Yet, I stayed with her sweaty hand clinging to mine tightly. _Don't leave again, Cott._

"I need to tell you something," she continued, "After I got here, Gally helped me recover from the Changing. It took two or three days for me to get my head right. Nothing I remembered was useful though. Gally and I bonded. We found out how much we had in common, and he kissed me one night. It was a weird thing—a kiss. I guess I never had one before. I loved it despite its confusing entrance. I wanted to kiss him again. Gally didn't though.

"I realized in that moment that I loved Gally. It hurt too. Gally didn't want to be around me anymore. After I recovered, he gave me the tour like he did with you. He worked me in all the jobs. It was obvious I was amazing at being a Builder. I was Keeper-worthy. My analytical skills fit perfectly for designing new ways to harvest food and get the Serum through a person's bloodstream—stuff like that. Gally saw my work and was overcome with rage and jealousy. If I kept it up, I was going to be in his Keeper position in no time. So, Gally made me a Cook, and I never forgot the look he gave me when he tossed me an apron that day."

Cott's eyes were attached to the sky. Her breathing had steadied, and she was no longer crying. She was not smiling either. Like a corpse, she was emotionless. I couldn't really say anything. I wouldn't have imagined that _that_ took place. It all made sense though. It made sense why Gally taunted Cott in front of me. It became clarified as to why Oscar was so upset for making me a Track-hoe instead of a Runner. Gally had damaged Cott.


	12. One Voice

**Sup, Gladers**

**This is a quickie chapter to fuel all your WICKED needs. Lots of meaning and mystery in it though. Chapter 3 is up on Wattpad.**

**Keep running.**

**~M&amp;M**

**P.s. Wanna listen while you read? Try:**

**"Tennis Court"—Lorde**

_Chapter 12~ One Voice_

I tried to respond, but all that came out was an unintelligible moan. Surprise was still washing over my face. Loathing, fury, pity, and sadness—they were truly powerful emotions at that moment. My eyes were locked on her. I realized Cott was more than what I gave her credit for. She felt pain like I did. She loved also. That smile didn't always stick around. Finally, after my deer-in-the-headlights moment, I found my words.

"Why didn't you say anything?" I asked. Her head lifted to face me.

"There may be too much fear of words in the world, but some things are better left unsaid."

It wasn't easy getting the girl back to the Homestead. She insisted I stayed with her, so I did. I took her pocket knife and carved my name in the Wall. It was smaller than the others and less intricate. Not like the others were very complex either. It was hard to uncover why Cott was still refusing to go back to the Homestead. I needed to get there despite her wishes. Oscar was probably hollering about my bright idea about her being in the Maze. The sky's light had dimmed maybe an hour ago.

"Hey, we have to get going," I told her. The girl's redness had vanished, and she looked ordinary as ever.

"Okay."

We took our time getting back but didn't say anything. Maybe there was nothing that came to mind that I could say to help. Oscar, of course, yanked Cott into a hug at first sight. His face was pink with panic, and he reeked of desperation. Cott couldn't answer any of his questions due to the fact that she was still mute.

"They didn't believe me when I told 'em," Oscar said, finally relaxing and finding his humanity.

"It doesn't matter." Dinner was just being served, and Cott was already setting herself down with a bowl full of stew, remembering how much she loved food. Oscar laughed to himself while watching her dive into dinner.

"Thanks for bringing her back. If she'd actually been in the Maze, I would be dead too." Quietness drafted between us as I recalled the words he'd said to me before running off.

"Oscar, you said Cott was the only reason you stopped. What does that mean exactly?" His eyes widened for a millisecond before returning to their ordinary state.

"Nothing. It was too negligible anyway. Cott is back; that's all that counts."

A flicker of anger burned in my stomach, but I quickly stomped it out. It wasn't worth getting him angry.

Midnight must've rolled in like smoke. Again, I found myself curled up all alone. This time I wasn't scared at all. I didn't know what to feel. There was but one thing I wanted—a hug. I never got enough of that. Yeah, call me cliché, but, hell, put yourself in my position and you'd be doing the same thing. There was anger of course. I was screwed over by Gally because he didn't want me as a Runner. Then, there was pity for Cott—for everyone.

Next, there was the light. The blinding, instinct-numbing white that covered me for a second.

I shot up straight, my breathing already quickening. All returned to normal. The sky was still charcoal black and all the Gladers were still blankly sleeping. I must've been the only one awake. Nothing but fear was running through my veins. My heart rate must've been awfully high. _What was that?_

The first pang of excruciation was abrupt without any warning whatsoever. I yelped and quickly covered my mouth. One of the kids shuffled in their sleep. The pain, on the other hand, cut off quickly. I got to my feet and scuttled to the fields. If anything happened again, I shouldn't awake the Gladers. After that thought, pain erupted as if something was entering my head. I yelped and griped my skull harshly. It hurt so much.

Then, a whispery voice echoed throughout my subconsciousness. I almost screamed.

"Amelia, sweetheart, listen to me. I'm so sorry we did this. I'm not allowed to be talking to you, but I needed to hear my little girl again." I screamed in frustration and pain.

"I know. I'm sorry it hurts. I already talked to your brother yesterday. I need to tell you something though. It'll help you get out of that wretched place." I clawed at my face, trying to push the voice and deadly pain away.

"Before they find out, here it is: float, catch, bleed- They're coming. I have to go, Amelia. Daddy loves you."

Blank slates. There was nothing.

My hands latched onto my mouth to muffle the scream. _Daddy?! Brother?! Amelia?!_

Whatever had happened hurt like hell—like Gally's beating. Yet, the voice's fading had released all remaining pressure. The voice had been husky and scratchy—like a vintage record played incorrectly.

I felt my cheeks flush red with anger and confusion. Billions of scary questions invaded my mind. That voice…my father? That was my father? I had a brother? He talked to him too? Nothing made sense anymore. The Maze. WICKED. Myself. All of it was an illusion. There was a world outside the Glade; that much was obvious. What lied in that world was the thing we were blinded from.

There were answers but several more questions. I hated the silence now. The cold, dead uneasiness mocked me. I crept back to the Homestead. All was just as I left it—only I hated the sight. With caution, I was able to crawl back to my little spot. Finally, the paralyzing and mind-numbing unconsciousness I'd been hoping for came.


	13. The Changing

**Man you cannot imagine how excited I am for the Scorch Trials trailer! Just the trailer! This is gonna be no less than the best thing ever. This is a great chapter for you. Have good a week and don't hesitate to strive to be sassy lil' Minho.**

**Keep runnning,**

**~M&amp;M**

**Want a theme song? Try:**

**Leave it Alone—Broken Bells**

_Chapter 13~ Changing_

**Emergency Report:**

This has been sent out specifically from B.A. (brain activity) director Francis Paris. It seems at 2:09 P.M. yesterday night, an unauthorized message was transmitted through the monitoring chip placed in each subject in Group C. Brain activity from subject "Amelia" faltered, and the message was sent through her. Whom was the culprit is unknown, and punishment will be severe for whoever it was. Meanwhile, though we do not know what information was passed on, but we must not take chances. Subject "Amelia" will be extracted from the experiment and executed.

_Francis Paris_

Please don't think the first thing I did was scamper to Minho or Alby or Newt and spill everything there was to know about the incident…In fact, I told absolutely no one. My head was still sore and sometimes, pale flashes of light would squeeze their way into my eyesight occasionally. If there was a time I needed answers so much, it must've been then. It was a tickle in the back of mind I couldn't itch—agonizingly limited. The fields weren't much of a comfort. If it happened again, I'd be hidden by nothing, and my visit by voice would become public. That was my thing at that moment.

Cott recovered nicely from her dilemma. After Cott came back, I was pulled back into the Homestead where I was questioned intently by Alby and Minho. Their questions brought back the memory of the person who had talked to me in my sleep. That must've been the "brother" I had. I growled to myself at the thought and continued to yank weeds up from the grou-

"You're doing that wrong," muttered a voice. My eyes darted towards the sound and a tall boy with short chestnut brown hair, ruffled, stared back at me. The boy looked around fifteen or maybe sixteen. He was thin and tall. Lanky wasn't a good word for him. He was too thin for lanky. The boy's skin was freckled heavily, and his pretty green eyes took me by surprise. I remembered him as a boy in the crowd when I first got out of the Box. I wanted to make a snarky remark and smile too. Smiling seemed necessary around this boy, but he didn't smile at all. His eyes were focused directly on me and his expression was mostly blank. It reminded me of how Cott described me. Headstrong and diligent.

"You're not pulling the weeds anymore. You're pulling the dirt." My eyes trailed to my hands where I found he was right. Liking this guy seemed to take an awful lot of effort, but Cott was right when she said I needed to make allies. Without missing a beat, I snapped, "Who're you to tell me that?" He shrugged nonchalantly.

"Abe. I guess. That's what people call me." My gaze held as his darted up to the sky.

"I just came by to…you know…say hello. I just need to get back to Winston and the other shanks." His voice trembled and faltered off as the end. It kinda seemed familiar. Abe stuffed his hands in his pockets, and I crawled to my feet.

"I guess I'll just go-" he began nervously. Before I could stop him, his long legs strutted what seemed like miles away from me in a matter of seconds. I could only stare at the quirky boy. Why I hadn't noticed him before was unknown. My attention dropped back to the plants. I dropped my handful of soil and watched the small cabbage plant grow. It would take time, yes. But despite this, each day, it would get stronger and more durable to anything thrown its way—kinda like me. It's potential was awfully limited. It was just cabbage. After my therapy session between vegetables and myself, another boy came up to me.

"Can't you see I'm busy?" I murmured, getting back to work as quickly as I could. There was a small chuckle after my words.

"Yeah, I can tell, love. I haven't gotten to talk to you since the incident though." I think it was pretty obvious who it was. I looked at Newt, unchanging my mood.

"What do you want with me?" A smirk played at his lips.

"That's for me to know, _Heart_. My particular interest is why Gally felt the need to hurt you." Anger flooded every pore in my body. I gritted my teeth and endured it.

"Gally didn't want me to be a Runner. He didn't want me to find a way out and ruin his perfect, little reputation." Newt guffawed.

"You don't honestly think I believe that rubbish," the boy scoffed. My eyebrows narrowed.

"Yeah, I actually do. You run this place, right? You'd know what was good for the Glade. If you seriously want to risk never being able to leave, I might as well throw myself off these walls." His ears perked up, and his eyes brightened.

"Stop talking like that. Never hurt another Glader—including yourself. Look, I didn't come here to fight. I'll…keep an eye on Gally. In the meantime, I wanted to make you an offer." I rolled my eyes and thought about throwing some dirt in his face to make him go away, because there was nothing I wanted from him.

"Come on a run with me."

Except that.

It would've been the perfect time for glass to drop and shatter. It would've just _made_ the scene. Instead, there was only my poor little gasp. My attention was all his. "Don't get too excited. I'm not making you a Runner. Just consider it…an experiment." I didn't want to hug him, but it was kinda hard not to. This was what I wanted since I stepped out of the Box.

"Sure. I'll go. If I die, it's on you though." A deep chuckle emitted from his chest. I almost jumped.

"If you die, it's on _you_," Newt muttered. I almost laughed but there was trickle of warning in his voice. His eyes narrowed after the silence.

"You'd make a good Runner." The words were like ice coming from his warm personality. It would've made sense for me to be ecstatic that he, for one, complemented me; it would also make sense for me to be happy since he, two, set aside the rules for a second to say that. Starstruck, I nodded, turning away in the process. I didn't want to see his glory in making me excited. I heard the chuckle though.

"Well, I'll see you tomorrow morning then, love." My eyes widened, and I whipped around.

"We're going tomorrow?"

"Yeah,"

"Don't I need some kind of training beforehand—like some tips?" I exclaimed, shocked that I was jumping into the Maze unprepared. That dirty smirk of his was back. I had to hold back my elbow to not hit him again.

"I'll give you a little info that Minho gives out to every new Runner: Be careful. Don't die." He shrugged and stuffed his hands in his pocket like he was in some kind of elite of something.

"You did bloody well on your own, slinthead," Newt slurred like I already knew that.


	14. Team

**Hello sweet****_hearts_****!**

**I'm graduating middle school the 18th! I'm so happy. I'll put up a new chapter on Wattpad right after this if you're interested. I'm kinda upset though. I just finished writing a death scene for something. :(**

**Anyway, enjoy the chapter and review!**

**Keep running.**

**~M&amp;M**

_Chapter 14~Team_

I didn't talk to Newt again that day, but we looked at each other every moment possible. A small twinge of hatred sparked in me whenever I saw Newt and his snarky green eyes. Yet, I wanted to…I don't know…_not_ hit him in the face as hard. It was a strong possibility that he was my brother. Geez, I didn't even know if I had a brother or father at all. I mean, I know I had a family once, but something had to have pulled us apart. It doesn't seem like mothers and fathers would be coming up the Box anytime soon. I got so confused in the Glade sometimes that I just wanted to scream. The bonfire was raging on, and the rest of us who decided to stick around were picking at the last bit of supper. Oscar had already left, complaining about Cott's cooking. She was with me, picking up Gally's empty jars of sickly moonshine. Newt had been sipping away at it that night. I'd never tasted alcohol in my life.

Cott called me over—a smirk on her face. "What?" I remarked.

"Wanna see something cool?" Without waiting for me to answer, she plucked a wooden bowl off a log bench and placed it on her fingertip before giving it a soft whirl. My face lit up at the little trick. I don't know why it made me so happy, but I couldn't help but feel a teaspoon of amazement.

"I remembered it when I got here. At least WICKED let me keep that much." The mood turned a bit sour, and Cott put the bowl down. Her eyes met mine, and the urge to look away overcame me. There was so much hanging in the balance; someone _had_ to find a way out. It was time for answers after the several years in the darkness. This was no longer a game of cat and mouse. We were lab rats to be experimented on and like hell we weren't chess pieces in the biggest chess board in the world.

I looked at Cott. She was just a teenager. She should've been painting her fingernails black despite her mom's wishes. She should've been spending her nights flipping through trashy, romantic fan-fictions online. Cott was actually living like an animal—living out survival of the fittest. She smiled again just to cheer me up. That was when I knew. Cott was my best friend. I wanted her to make it out before me. She would.

When the morning came, I was probably the first one up and active. By the time Newt came around, I'd already swept through half of my work for the day. His hair was ruffled up, and he carried a thigh brace that was transformed into several pockets and places for throwing knives. It had three knives jammed in their pockets. Newt tossed it to me, and I put in over my jeans hastily. Then, he handed me a dagger in its little sheath.

"I slipped that from the Map Room. Latch in onto your belt loop." He also gave me a solar-powered, digital watch. After that, he brought me over to Minho who had an unsatisfied look to him. The boy took my new appearance in as I redid my twisted, low ponytail.

"Greenbean actually looks like Runner. Let's see if she can act like one too," Minho teased. I rolled my eyes and dropped my arms. "I think I've been here long enough to outgrow '_Greenie_'. My name is Heart."

Now, it was Minho's turn to guffaw. "Not until the next Glader comes out of that Box."

I wanted to think a second time in the Maze was going to be simple enough. I'd already seen a lot of it. The first minute that same feeling of fear was returning in my veins. It seemed like there were miles of turns ahead. The walls seemed to contract every step we took. I didn't think I was claustrophobic, but I was feeling like it for sure. We seemed to never stop going. When we finally did stop running, it didn't last long. I huffed a breath while leaning on a wall.

"Can't take the heat, shank?" Newt remarked, wiping his forehead with his sleeve. I uttered something that started as a cough and turned into a laugh.

"You wish."

I couldn't have guessed what lied behind every wall, what hid in every nook and cranny. The only possible way to see what lied behind the monstrous gates was to run my way around them. I could picture myself with a colorful pencil, drawing around a square maze, not bothering with the lines in between. I'd just draw from the entrance to the exit easily. If only the Maze was like that one. The sun had lowered to the mid-lower half of the sky. If there was some progress I was supposed to be making, I wasn't realizing it. I attempted to memorize the routes but it was all a jumble—a mess of directions and paths that didn't remotely connect to anything that could get us out of the Maze. How Minho was able to get us back to the Maze entrance astounded me. We slowed down our pace and Minho watched me.

"Did pretty good today, Greenie. I'm surprised you kept up with us." The smallest of smiles pursed my lips, and I dropped my head. We were jogging back towards the odd shack-like building they always went to when a figure caught my eye. It was moving quickly and steadily towards us. Minho and Newt didn't seem to take notice of it. Only when the person's facial features came into view that I could tell. He seemed to be flying on the ground he was moving so quickly and so powerfully.

"Gally-"

A large elbow struck my chest with so much force that my knees swept out from under me, and my head smacked on the ground. For a scary moment, the world around me was fuzzy and white. My breathing picked up and seemed to stop at the sane time. The shock and terror came hand in hand.

"Minho! We have rules here! Non-Runners are _not_ allowed in the Maze. Just banish this shuck-head right here and now!" hissed Gally's menacing voice. The sound of yells and grunt filled my ears, and my vision finally returned. A blossom of pain had kissed the place where I'd been struck. I thought he was locked away.

"Gally she's not gonna be a Runner! Chill out, shank," Newt's voice rang out like a bell. I lifted my head up though it felt like a massive weight.

"Shut the hell up, Newt," spat Gally. I attempted to call out, but it came out as a croaky whisper. Minho came into view, holding himself in front of an enraged Gally—face twisted and red. "It was just a test run to see if she remembered anything from out there. She made it all the way to the Blades last time." This just seemed to anger Gally even more.

"I don't care if she got to the shuckin' end of the Maze. Girls are _not_ allowed!"

I clambered to my feet, the bruise already forming on my chest. "Shut up!" I screamed. All eyes rested on me, and the Glade was silent once again.

"I will not be told what I can and cannot do if it means I could help someone, and I will not be abused by you, Gally. When I first ran in that Maze, I was petrified and dazed at the same time. Since then, my feelings have not altered. I have been thrown around like a rag doll!"

No one spoke, so I took that as an invitation to proceed. "If this is going to be a world where we return to the discrimination of women—where we never find a way out just to hold our _pride_—then I don't want to live in it." Who knew words could be as powerful as actions. Gally's anger cooled, and Newt's eyes held mine for what seemed like an eternity. The mood was unclear; there were no smiles or eyes made of hatred. I think we were just blindsided. Gally's eyes softened, and he reached out towards me.

"Heart, I'm sorry-" I ripped my hand from his grasp and gave him the most scornful look I could make.

"Like hell you are."

Then, without missing a beat, I trudged away from the group—unsure of where I was going, but it sure wasn't back there.


	15. Eye of the Storm

**Scorch Trials trailer is out and I don't think I've stopped screaming since this morning. Jeez, it wasn't the greatest but I hope they stuck to the correct storyline. I don't think I'll be able to forgive the world if not. I LOVE this chapter.** **It is so powerful and means so much to me.**

**Treat my baby nicely. Thank you and enjoy the awesomely terrific chapter.**

**Keep running.**

**~M&amp;M**

_Chapter 15~ Eye of the Storm_

The forest was thick, my eyesight was blurry, and nothing else mattered. Anger seemed interminable at the moment. I didn't _want_ to feel so much hatred towards Gally, but what was my reason not to? Before I realized it, I was pushing through loose branches, weaving myself through Deadheads. Cott told me Gladers were buried there and that it wasn't much of a graveyard. I wasn't going there though. I just wanted to be alone. So much had happened that I couldn't tell what was the problem and what was the variable. Let's review.

_My name is Heart._

_I think I'm fifteen or sixteen by Cott's guess. Cott is my best friend because she's like me. I don't know my parents. I'm alone. I have a father and a brother, but I don't know who they are; they might not even know me. I want to live. For right now._

It wasn't much of a sense of humanity, but it would work. My legs stopped moving, and my surroundings came back to mind. I held onto a nearby, trying to keep myself upright. That was what it must've felt like to be a mouse in a trap. The urge to scream again rose up, and I forced it down my throat painfully. I was going to die in the Glade. I was gonna die, and no one would care because I was nothing to them. I was worthless. I was-

"Heart?" My eyes flickered in the shadows, and my hand latched off the tree. I'd gripped it so hard that slivers of bark had settled underneath my fingernails. I quickly picked them clean and searched for the voice.

"What in the bloody hell was that?" It was Newt. He came out of the dimness, and I saw eyes practically made of worry and sprinkles of fear. Words were just out of my reach. "That was great—what you said back there," he murmured. I grasped at what little sentences I could find.

"I just…want some answers." He chuckled, encouraging me to do the same. A small laugh came out of me and a smile. Surprisingly, I could manage that. Newt fixed his leather harness and snatched out a pocket knife out. Normally, this would've startled me, but there was trust I think. Maybe I trusted him.

"Well, love, can't help you there, but right now, I can." Newt stripped himself of the light hoodie, exposing an orange undershirt. His arms weren't skinny, but they were lean and muscular. I watched his shoulder blades seemingly dance as he cut thin shoelace-sized bands out of the hood of the hoodie. "What are you doing?" I remarked, not understanding why he was cutting bands out of his own shirt.

After three foot-long bands were made, he slipped the hoodie back on, and nimble, long fingers braided the bands together. I smiled and watched without as so much as a sigh come out of me. It didn't take long until it was made a braid. He smiled again, not looking at me.

"Hold out your wrist," Newt said. I did, and he wrapped it around, tying the ends.

"You did well today. You seemed a bit beat up afterwards also. I know it's not much, but think of it as a prize or something." I couldn't stop smiling. It was a braided, cloth bracelet; suddenly, it meant as much as gold to me. _Why am I being so naïve? _

"Thank you…" I found myself murmuring. He nodded, letting his hand drop. There was a terrifying moment of silence. Quickly, I ushered back to the Glade.

"We probably need to get back." This seemed to shake him out of his daze. "Yeah—bloody hell, you're right." We scrambled through the woods again, my fingers grazing the priceless bracelet.

Alby's eyes pierced through mine like a stake to the heart. I wouldn't have been surprised if he slapped me right there.

"I'm not in charge here; Newt is. I'm not gonna make any shuckin' punishments for you yet, but I expect some," he snapped, looking at Newt now. The boy stepped forward.

"It's my fault," said the blonde, "I invited Heart on the run with us. She was really good that first day, and I figured, maybe, I could train her to be a Runner." My eyes lifted, and a smile plastered over my face. Though, it wasn't there for long. Gally's short neck craned into the conversation.

"But she's not a Runner, is she? That wasn't what you assigned her, Newt." My thoughts silenced as well as everyone else in the Homestead. Newt assigned me as a Track-hoe—not Gally. "Why would you do that?! Why did you prance up to me saying I'd be a good Runner?" I barked back to Newt. His eyebrows furrowed together as if he was wincing.

"Don't you remember? Girls aren't _allowed_ to be Runners. These were ground rules set before I was leader. I can't make an exception for you otherwise everyone will be breaking their da** backs to be a Runner." I wanted to understand, but it was difficult to. "Then, make me a Runner and a Track-hoe. I can spend the mornings Running and the rest of the day in the fields. No one has to know I'm a Runner."

Gally's dark eyes beat Newt's to me. "You aren't seriously considering that, are you? I've heard a lot of stupid ideas, but that is certainly one of a kind."

"Well, surprise, surprise, Gally. You're _not_ big-man-on-campus. I know how much you want to be, but you aren't—he is. I was talking to Newt," I said, just to rub it in his face. Newt shook his head and let it drop.

"I can't do that, Heart. I'm sorry." With as much force as I could muster, I ripped the knot out of the bracelet, suddenly loathing it.

"Take your piece of trash back, ***hole," I hissed, practically spitting venom his way. I hurled the bracelet at his chest and stormed out of the Homestead. Cott was on the outside, apparently listening the whole time. I didn't answer her inquiries or her calls to stop me from running halfway across the world.

"Where in the world are you going?" she asked, trudging behind me. Annoyed by her constant antics, I hollered back, "To the Maze before it closes." This stopped her dead in her tracks. I slowed to halt as well. There wasn't any reason to keep going when she was always going to be ahead of me. "What are you even talking about?"

"The Maze. I'm going in to clear my head." She grunted a laugh.

"By risking your life?! Yeah, great plan you got there, Heart." _Why does she have to be this way? Doesn't she realize I'm meant to be a Runner in the first place?_

"What's that supposed to mean?!"

"Do you always have to be the center of attention around here? Do rules mean nothing to you? Heart, you're already in deep klunk with the other boys. If you went out there, which I'm not stopping you from doing, you will not only die, but you'll promote the idea that's it's okay to disregard all order and run into the eye of the storm. I won't let either of those things happen."

When I first met Cott, I saw a shining sunflower with some bent petals; now, it was a dead-serious, faded ghost of that girl—in a tacky orange jacket.

"I hope you do realize that I care about you, Oscar cares about you, Newt cares about you…" she said to me, trying to soften the blow. My eyes darted up to hers.

"_Newt_?" I interrupted. Cott looked as though I had foiled her whole plan. "I didn't mean it that way. I just know how much he doesn't want you to get hurt. You have to understand that you can't go running off every time things don't go your way." I guess this calmed me down. Deep down, I wanted someone to point out how wrong I was. It would be useless for Cott to tell me everything was going to be alright when it wasn't. Not only did it feel like she was telling me the truth, but I also accepted it. "Okay," I murmured.

Cott sighed, glad my built-up anger was released. "Okay, slinthead."

By the time I got out into the fields, the events of the day meant nothing. Cott was right; I couldn't run away from my problems, and I sure as hell couldn't put myself or anyone else in danger because of them. Not many people were out there, but the ones who were out gave me dirty looks while I passed by. My hands were latched around a watering can when a tall shadow concealed me. It was Oscar. His happy-go-lucky mood had diminished completely. I put the can down and stood as confidently as I could.

"Hey," I found myself saying. I winced when his expression showed that that wasn't the right thing to say.

"I can't believe you could stoop so low." My eyes widened. "Excuse me?" He nodded, his eyes not moving a centimeter away from me.

"You heard me. You went into the buggin' Maze, as new and as untrained as a baby deer. What is wrong with you, Heart? I'm supposed to be your friend. For one, it was idiotic to go out there in the first place. Also, you should have at least told me or something. You could have died!" My eyebrows came together almost instantly, and I growled, "I will not let you nag me. You sound like my mother." Then, without an ounce of hesitation, he retorted, "Well, going out there means risking never seeing _her_ again." My lungs shrunk to the size of a button.

It was clear that regret was all over his face. He froze. "I'm so sorry. I shouldn't have-"

I interrupted, mumbling, "No. You're right. I know going out there wasn't smart. I'll just stay in the Fields from now on, alright?" Oscar sighed, his eyelids falling lazily. I finally saw him for what he truly was—tired and sympathetic. His eyes looked fuller that day and much darker—like a large dog's. I gave him a weak smile, but I guess he took it because Oscar was trudging back to his side of the field again.


	16. Moonshine & Chimney Lungs

**Hi, my Gladers! I think I'm going to start updating sooner, because, now that it's summer, I hate having to wait a week. Have a great Wednesday!**

**Want a chapter theme song?**

**Try "Still Sane" by Lorde**

**Keep running.**

**~M&amp;M**

_Chapter 16~ Moonshine &amp; Chimney Lungs_

I didn't want him there; he kinda just showed up. I swear I remember me sitting at the campfire later that day with no one by my side. Cott had run off with Oscar, talking about this game they were going to play with the other Gladers. Consequently, there wasn't much of an influx of people after they left. I stayed behind, punishing myself because I wasn't being very social—not like I was to begin with. While this sad-looking scene was playing out, Abe managed to approach me with all the courage those stick-thin bones could assimilate. His eyes seemed to smile, so it reminded me all too well of Cott.

"You know, after the stunt you pulled today, I would think you'd brush it off with a little fun," he insisted. I couldn't help but roll my eyes and turn away. He sat himself next to me, holding a jar of what I guessed was moonshine.

"If you're here to mock or lecture me, go. That's already been taken care of." The boy emitted a shaky laugh. I guess guys found humor in small things like that. He took a gulp of the moonshine and turned back to me, holding his liquor well.

"Instead of dampening your spirits anymore, I'd like to drink with you."

Abe offered the liquor over, and I refused. His eyebrows furrowed together. "C'mon, drink." Staring at the putrid-looking substance, I finally decided to take a gulp.

And I regretted it. Like most during the moment they have their first taste of alcohol, I doubled over, gagging on the pungent cinnamon taste. Abe laughed loudly, making sure to throw his head back dramatically. As much as I hated it, a smile snuck its way onto my face too.

"That is the most repulsive thing I have ever attempted to consume," I groaned, trying to spit out any that might have gotten left over. Abe, at the moment, was unable to hold his hysterics in, surely not caring if the whole Glade heard us. If that was what the moonshine tasted like, I didn't understand why Newt could drink it. Maybe he'd been drinking it for a long time. My thoughts were interrupted by Abe. His fitful laughter softened to a low chuckle. The boy reached into his back pocket, plucking out a band of braided cloth. The bracelet.

"I didn't really come here to drink the night away with you though. Newt gave me this…to give to you." Somehow, the sight of the bracelet made my heartstrings break. Regret filled my every vein.

"He thought I'd be better giving it to you because I had a lesser chance to be punched in the face." I smiled again and nodded at Abe. "I didn't think he cared enough to make me something like that. It's kinda like he gave me a little bit of himself." The words most likely made no sense whatsoever to Abe, but to me, they were everything.

"It's just a bracelet," Abe remarked, an eyebrow raised in confusion. The smile on my face didn't falter the least bit by his comment. I murmured, "Yeah, it's just a bracelet," while keeping my eyes on it. My wrist slithered in front of me instinctively.

"Put it on, Abe." He knotted it, and, once again, I felt whole. My thanks were short-lived. I wasn't ungrateful, but the bracelet had me swept up in a swarm of emotions varying from regret, joy, and insecurity. It didn't take long for Abe to grab my attention.

"You know, when I first got here, there was a girl with the biggest eyes you could ever imagine. They were a silver that was almost grey—like yours. Her hair, on the other hand, was a short black that made her look like a wolf. Her eyes were the moons, and her hair was her fur. She wasn't very short, but just enough to have to stand on her toes to get something on the top shelf. I loved her from the first time I saw her. Well, this girl, Reth, was made a Runner the second day out of the Box. Reth was athletic and incredibly clever—a perfect Runner. I loved her so much that some nights I would stay up all night just to make sure no one hurt her. Stupid…I know…but it didn't take long for her to find out my crush on her.

"Believe it or not, she kissed me, and I had the nerve to kiss her back. The whole while, the sense of morphing into one person was inevitable. God, Reth was everything. The next week, Alby came up to me in the Bloodhouse. He told me…Reth had thrown herself off the side of the walls and died. She committed suicide, and I didn't know why at all. I didn't know…That moment was the one when I truly felt confused—not like coming out of the Box. This was much worse. I lost a familiar part of me but didn't know the root of the cause. I won't—can't—forget the look on Alby's face. Expressionless. Reth had meant nothing to him."

I would very much like to think Abe was my brother. He'd survived that with scars thicker than trees. Abe, the skinny Slicer, was the real soldier. My lips were slightly parted in awe; his head was dropped, for the boy was lost in tortured reminiscence. Maybe there was something I could've said, but really would that make things better? Reth was still dead. Abe was always going to be metaphorically dead. No words in the English or Glader dictionary could fix that.

When I woke up in the morning, there wasn't much to be done. Gladers were waking up like undead corpses, pushing themselves up by their hands and knees. I, on the other hand, woke up with my eyes in the sky. It surely is a miraculous moment when you have the chance to wake up looking at the sky.

Clouds were absent of course; according to Cott, they never appeared in the Glade, but I remembered them. I recalled tracing their shapes with my finger and drawing them messily with grey sticks of wax. I know I put little drops of blue underneath them, but why? What were those drops supposed to be? This I didn't think anyone remembered. The wind was cooler than normal, pulling my hair out behind me. My fingers tugged over Newt's bracelet. Everything was unpleasant.

I gently tugged on the hose, stringing it along from the attachment faucet in the ground near the walls. I was filling up my watering can and Oscar's can. That was when little Mr. Happy came up smiling. I rolled my eyes as his approach. "If you're here to flirt with me or mock me, screw off. I'm busy." Newt placed a hand on his heart, pretending that offended him. "Why," he began, "you _can_ be rude, sweetheart."

As if the words were oil on my tongue, they slipped out quickly. "Well, can you blame me? You're not exactly the first person I want to see right now. You, now let's see, ruined my chances of becoming a Runner or getting a better rank for that matter. You embarrassed me in front of Minho and everyone. And you gave back the bracelet guessing that I wasn't furious anymore."

Newt smiled, crossing his arms nonchalantly.

"Yet you have it on," he remarked as if he was Sherlock Holmes. This infuriated me, and I faced him properly.

"Do you want it back?" His arms flew up, and his smile died down. Without a second look, I snatched up the nozzle of hose and jerked on the faucet. Water shot out of the end like a mini tsunami. I kept it contained in the watering cans, deeming myself capable of wasting as little water as possible. Newt watched me the whole time, not bothered by the fact that I wanted him removed out of my line of vision as quickly as humanly possible.

"Heart-"

I turned the faucet pressure up, droning out his voice. "Heart, stop-"

Again, I turned it up, getting sprayed in the face little by little. I felt like I was putting out a fire from a tall apartment building.

"Shut the damn hose off!" yelled Newt. Giving up, I shut it completely off and looked at him, ready to say something. He held up a finger, a look of annoyance in his eyes.

"Shut up for one second, okay? Look—I'm sorry that you can't be a Runner. If it was in my power, believe me, you'd be in the Maze right now, but I can't do that. You seem to not realize that everything doesn't revolve around you. I have a hell of a lot more people to worry about, and it's so shucking hard when I'm always, _always_ worrying about you. I want you out there, but I'm scared at the same time. I know that's what you want so I want that for you…just…damn! I can't do it. You have to start picking up your act and set an example for the other Gladers. Please just deal with this for right now."

I was surprised when a Griever came at me and left as if I was never there. I was shocked to hear about Cott's backstory. But this was different than those occasions. I couldn't move or even look away from Newt. Emotionless and dumbfounded was I. My knees were in the dirt, wet with leftover water, but I could only stare. Newt didn't wait for an answer, but sighed sadly. Then, without another word on the subject, he muttered, "Oh, and Frypan needs the green onions and strawberries in no more than twenty minutes."

He took off, walking the opposite direction of the Fields. For a second, I was so very sure I was going to cry. That second tugged at my heartstrings then disintegrated into negligibility. Instead of crying, my lungs contracted so that it was difficult to breathe. They burned, and breathing air was equivalent to breathing smoke. The air temperature dropped or maybe it was my own temperature…either way I couldn't feel over the mind-numbing cold that ran through my every vein. Hopefully that wasn't what dying felt like because despite all pain and suffering, I still could only see Newt's disappointed face—and that was a death all its own.


	17. Invisibility Cloak

**Hi, Gladers! I just read back past books and remembered Zart dies. Jeez, I was really hoping he didn't so I could use him more in the story. A lot of people die actually.**

**The past couple of chapters have been kinda depressing, so I decided to lighten the mood up with this one. The chapter is very long, so hopefully, you're comfortable. It is great, really, because we get to advance more in the story and learn more about Reth. I think I'm going to design a bit better and more detailed description of her soon. I might even add her in the story later on down the road. Enjoy!**

**Keep running,**

**~M&amp;M**

_Chapter 17~ Invisibility Cloak_

Maybe I read too far into things or maybe I just reacted too quickly; either way nothing had changed. For the past three days, I thought about Reth a lot. Maybe I wouldn't be hated as much if I was more like her. I was doing something very wrong apparently. I should've despised Reth due to the reason that she was to blame for me not being in the Maze. Then, I thought about her mysterious suicide. There obviously had to be a reason behind it. According to Abe she threw herself off the walls, not giving any hints as to why. I guess the interminable guessing was the worst part for him. Maybe she was weak…maybe too enduring.

My eyes glazed over like ice as I watched the walls shut. The last of the boys was getting out of there, making a beeline for the Map Room of course. Instead of focusing on the boys, I focused on the walls and the way they moved. I looked at the ledges and possible ways of climbing them. There were the vines but nothing much other than that. Some vines never reached the top but clung onto the cracks between the walls. Suddenly, my eyes darted down, realizing something. Up ahead I spotted Minho and called him over.

"Aren't you supposed working?" he snapped. Ignoring his comment, I inquired, "In what sector did Reth die?"

Minho looked as if I'd slapped him across the face. He took a moment stuttering for words out of his grasp. "How do you know about her?!" he barked. A short sigh escaped my lips.

"I was told about her. Now, I need you to tell me this."

His eyes widened like when I first mentioned Reth.

"You might already know too much-" I probably came across as desperate, but that wasn't a concern.

"Please, Minho." He looked at me in a saddening way—a way that brought grief to mind.

Minho finally sighed either because he was giving up or I deserved to know; the preceding was less likely.

"I first met Reth by the walls. She was tracing patterns over the them, unafraid of what lied beyond. Personally, I thought she was clinically insane. At that time, Newt was still arranging order. The limitations on the Runner position hadn't been made yet. So, I invited her on a run with me, eventually finding out she was extremely light on her feet and fast…like a wolf. How ironic that the peculiar girl became the first female Runner.

"Anyway, after about five months of running, she came to me one night with a little smile on her face. Reth told me three words: death, stiff, push. They were weird, meaningless. At that time I didn't know that the next morning I'd find her body sprawled at the bottom of walls of Sector 5, blood seeping out of the back of her head."

The story definitely differed from the one Abe told me. He made it out like Reth was a kindhearted teenager while Minho depicted her as another army soldier. Valuable information lied in the lines of that story. Sector 5. Blood was drawn. Those words—death, stiff, push. They sounded a lot like…

"Minho, thanks…for telling me that. I didn't know that was how it played out." Minho shrugged, his eyes dropping to the ground in an act of remembrance. "But there are flaws," I pointed out. This could've been enough to surprise and anger the boy, but he instead peered at me with such curiosity that I urged on.

"You said that she was found all the way out in Sector 5, bleeding. There isn't a possible way that she could've climbed up those huge walls fast enough and high enough to kill herself _and_ evade being trapped there. She would've either been found by you or stuck in the Maze for the night. And she most certainly wouldn't have bled."

You would've expected Minho to get angry. You'd be right.

"You're seriously gonna tell me about the death of one of my Runners? You aren't even one." My eyebrows raised in a sympathetic fashion.

"I'm not _telling_ you anything. I'm suggesting that Reth did not die from suicide. It's impossible." He seemed cockily outraged by my smugness.

"She had to have killed herself. We've already established that she did." I fought back the urge to sigh or talk back. My voice lowered to a calmer tone when I said, "It couldn't be true…because…"

I trailed on, unhappy that I'd brought up the subject I was meaning to avoided. Minho gave me suspicious looks, switching from one foot to the next. I guess he was separated between anger and curiosity.

"Because what?" he pressed. I did not reply but racked my mind for other subjects that I could argue on to bring up. Minho detected this and and repeated, "Because what, Heart?" My eyes darted to his, courage gradually fading away along with my faith in his forgiveness. I began in a low voice. "Something happened in the Maze," my voice admitted.

I hadn't seem Minho's eyes get that dark and wide.

"What?"

"Something happened that first day, and you were drunk the first time I told you about it. It was never the right time, and I never had it completely figured out. After contemplating on Reth's death, though, I've noticed what I was missing. We're all different. Each glader possesses qualities that are essential to the foundation of order, stability, and success here. Right?"

I didn't wait for Minho to answer.

"Some qualities are far off from comparison than others. I think that might go for me. That day I was in the Maze, I ran into a Griever, and there was nowhere to hide. It was the first moment in which I was sure I was going to die. The Griever came around the corner and looked directly at me. _Directly at me, Minho_. The thing appeared as if it was looking through glass and left me to roam the halls. It didn't kill me despite its surefire opportunity to."

There was no response, so, like before, I continued my theory…er…hypothesis.

"It's just a guess, but I think that moment meant something. I might appear as an invisible piece in the game…at least to the Grievers. I also thing the same went for Reth. The Grievers might've heard her running, followed by sound, and stabbed her in the head, killing her instantaneously."

Most likely, it wasn't wise to speak of the incidents in the Maze, but someone needed to know. I refused to share the same fate as Reth. She probably didn't realize her difference either. Then, something peculiar happened. Minho's eyes cleared and the smallest of all smirks appeared on his face. "I remember," he told me, "that about a couple months ago, Reth came up to me one night saying the exact same thing you're saying. I didn't believe her—thought she was talking klunkin' rubbish. Look what became of her now."

His eyes seemed to stare into my soul, understanding every word that passed my lips.

"I will not make that mistake twice."

I would not have guessed it. I only expected for Minho to hear me out. The noise in the Homestead was overwhelming. I was lost in the crowd of boys and one or two girls. The Runner Keeper gathered all the other Keepers in the Glade to a meeting of some sort. I recognized Winston, Frypan, Zart, and Bart in the crowd along with Gally, Alby, and Newt. The other two people were unknown.

"Quiet down, shuckfaces!" Gally called out, settling down the banter throughout. As soon as we were silent, nerves blossomed inside my stomach. Last time I was there, I was being punished; the results of this meeting were unpredictable. Minho looked at everyone, his eyes finally landing on me.

"Last time this matter came up, we decided Greenie wasn't fit to be a Runner," Minho began.

"Is this what we're here for?" called out an annoyed voice. "Shut up!"

No one moved for we were all watching Minho, waiting for his next words. He cleared his throat and took an encouraging breath. "We all remember Reth, one of the greatest Runners that ever visited the damn Maze. Months before her death, she came up to me saying she was invisible to Grievers and could only be detected by sound. It seemed like rubbish to me, and I brushed it off. Because I never helped her figure this out, she was killed…by a Griever—not suicide."

I'd never heard a more sickening silence. Everyone seemed to be commemorating Reth in their own silent way.

"It wasn't suicide. Now, I am just as sick and tired of being here as the rest of you. I've been searching for impossible ideas of ways to get out of here. Normally, I would think Heart is shucking crazy. But a girl _died_ because I didn't listen to her, so we're gonna do as she says," Minho lamented. Then, the boy looked at me and titled his head as a nod. Nerves didn't come back. Confidence was all I possessed. With a quick tug of Newt's bracelet, I stepped forward.

"Um, the first day I was in the Maze, I was more lost than just about anyone. I finally gave up and came to a dead end. A Griever came and didn't even notice I was there despite it looking right at me. Of course, I didn't know what that meant until now. I am somewhat invisible to Grievers by sight."

My eyes caught sight of Newt. He was just as perplexed as everyone else.

"So," I continued, "I need to be out there in the Maze. The sooner we use these resources, the quicker we can get out of this damn hellhole and find out who did this to us." Don't think I was expecting enthusiastic cheers or anything. Actually, I was expecting less. The look in Newt's eyes was enough—regret, sorrow, maybe pride? He nodded a small bit, and I stepped back in my place. Minho clapped him hands together, gathering our attention. "Okay. I think it's up to a vote. I nominate Heart as the newest Runner. All opposed, let's have a show of hands."

It was either Reth's memory or my words that did the trick because not one person in the Homestead raised their hand. I wanted to cry and cheer and possibly do a dance. I was a Runner!

"Heart, better shape up. See you in the Maze tomorrow. Meeting closed." People began to fan out like you'd see in a courtroom. Ecstatic, I turned to Minho to say something…anything. Instead, an arm pulled me out of the Homestead with the force of a hurricane. I didn't cry out because it was obvious that Gally was going to have some words with me. I turned to the person and saw it was Newt, his eyes hinting anger and longing.

"What are you doing?" I snapped, trying to shake out of his grasp, but it was hardly possible with him pulling me into the forest. We got lost through the trees and dimness. When Newt and I reached the center of the forest, I finally tore away from him.

"What the hell was that?!" I fumed. Newt's eyes locked on mine without dropping once. "I need to talk to you now. I'm sorry I pulled you, but this important." My anger diminished to nothing in a second. "What is it?" I found myself asking. Newt's arms crossed nonchalantly.

"Why didn't you tell me about this? This is so very important. Didn't Minho ask if anything went on in the Maze?" Newt inquired. I was at a small loss of words for that. Whenever I looked at the boy, I could no longer focus on his words. All I could picture was his disappointed face glaring me down as if I could sink into the earth.

"I didn't know…I'm sorry…" At that moment, Newt must've realized how I felt too because his eyebrows raised, and his arms fell. "About that day—what I said about you was entirely untrue. You're not selfish, Heart. I know you just want the best for everyone in the Glade. I didn't know the whole reason you wanted to be in the Maze was because you knew you were a key resource. I'm so sorry." Oddly enough, these words made my shoulders sink and the weight on my shoulders lift away. I could breathe again. Then, the words flowed.

"I want to be like you," I breathed. His eyes widened slightly. "What?"

"When you got out of the Maze, I'd watch you all—every day. I saw how happy you were…like you accomplished miraculous things every day. I wanted that feeling for once. Now, that I had the chance, I see that you are a fantastic Runner, Newt. And it's not just that. You're honest, incredibly clever, and you're kind to me. You're everything I want to be."

Newt's eyes lit up like eternal flames. He seemed as if every word I muttered was a shard of ice to the skin. The boy smirked and cocked his head to the side. "You don't mean that, do you?" Newt murmured, scratching the backside of his neck. Feeling a cool breeze sweep over and comfort me, I replied, "Of course." Our eyes crashed together, unbreakable and stitched was our gaze.

"Thank you," Newt remarked, and I returned the phrase. His stare dropped to the ground, confidence faltering.

"And just so you know, I won't be planning on hurting you any longer. If you look up to me like that," he chuckled, "I should set a bloody good example."

A smile found its way on my lips, and Cott's image formed in my mind. She'd probably forgive anyone she saw the second they made a mistake. That was just who she was. "It's okay," I told him, "Nothing can hurt me as long as I have this bracelet on." I rose my wrist in the air to show the boy. This brought a smile to his face as well. That crooked, toothy grin. "C'mon, Runner." Then, the funniest thing happened. Newt held out his hand. Guess what's even funnier?

I took it.


	18. A Toothy Grin for Me

**AAAHH! The freakin feels! The last line though! Ugh this chapter will be the death of me people.**

**Keep running.**

**~M&amp;M**

_Chapter 18~ A Toothy Grin for Me_

People say that the first day is always the hardest; I disagree. It's always the second day that's a bitch. I cracked my knuckles ferociously and smiled to myself. Cott was the first person I told after the meeting. I think she almost had a heart attack while processing the information. Of course, her first question was if Gally had interjected. It must've been hard to reject making me a Runner after how pitiful Minho had set the mood. Maybe it was on purpose. I left out the part about Newt and I since she would've actually had a heart attack if I told her that.

"Ready, Greenie?" Cott asked, placing her hands on her hips in imitation of Newt that first day I met him. A smirk crossed my face. She waited with me as Minho and Newt met me the next morning.

"I'll let that one slip," I remarked smugly. Cott rolled her eyes. "Don't think now that you're in the big leagues Oscar and I are going to treat you any differently. You're still our little slinthead."

Laughs escaped between the both of us. _Was this how girls were before the Glade?_

Not much later, two boys ran up next to us. Minho looked me over with not much expression. "Ready, greenbean?" he teased.

A sly smirk crept onto my lips. "Let's just get out of here." Don't you dare assume this was a happy moment. It was rare to have a good moment in the Glade. The moment was merely tolerable.

The walls opened like an ancient mountain erupting, slowly and destructively. Minho shouted out, sounding drowned by the deadly hum of the Maze. The next second, we were running for our lives.

It's one thing to live off the land. It's another to allow the land to live off of you. Technically, that was our predicament. Our resources were short, our population small. Land had a big advantage here. I remembered a time when humans ruled the world. They toyed with habitats and species; no one took in consideration of their actions. Quite possibly it resulted in us Gladers being trapped here. We couldn't complain anymore—that time already passed. The Glade was no longer a cage but a home.

"Newt!" my voice screamed. He was fast, but the Griever was faster. We were being cut down. Suddenly, to my horror, Newt stumbled and collapsed to the ground.

Wait—I'm getting ahead of myself. Let me tell you how we got here. Minho turned another left, knowing the way through the Maze. Newt kept throwing smiles my way from the front. Honestly, focusing on the Maze was my one priority.

"Alright, stop." We skidded and slowed. Minho droned, "This is Sector 7. We've had most unusual behavior here. We'll scope it out more for today and fan out to the next ones for the other couple days. Good that?" Newt and I nodded, taking in the open area of stone and crushed rubble. Minho led us around the walls and Blades as if it was his passion. _How long had he been doing this? Did he go on runs with Reth?_

The silence the Maze created was the part that bothered me most. Fear of what was behind a single wall plagued me the whole time. _Why should I be scared? _I asked myself. _I have a safer bet of surviving the Maze than Newt and Minho do._

I counted the seconds; not only did it contain what sanity I had left, but it also comforted me. The Maze did things to you—made you regret decisions and second guess yourself. My fingers clutched onto the bracelet. Why, whenever I became scared or anxious, did I grab at that stupid bracelet? It had no value in the real world. To me though, it secretly meant risking my life. The scuttling came without hesitation like it had been dropped onto the ground. Minho froze, but Newt walked ahead. Silence blew over the area, I screamed Newt's name, and the gigantic Griever lurched out from behind the wall. This leads me to where we ended up. Disregarding my own safety as a whole, my body shoved itself forward to Newt. My arms latched onto his and yanked him up. The boy kicked himself up and ran so fast, I was being pulled along.

"This way!" yelled Minho, flailing his arms to the opening of another section.

We rushed over nearly soaring with the monster behind us. Minho laced us through path after path, never stopping for anything. _I bet he's done this millions of times before._

"Minho!" yelled Newt.

Only then, my hand did slip, my foot hit a crack, and my world unraveled from underneath me. Newt screamed out my name, but the moment was gone. I fell in a heap on the ground and prickles of stinging fire rained on my back. The pain was no less than unbearable, moreover the feeling of blindness I'd experienced while hearing my father's voice had returned. It was the worst pain I'd ever felt. Arms lifted me off the ground and held me close.

"Heart! Oh, god…" Of course, I couldn't see anything because my eyes were screwed shut in agony. The arms brushed my back, and a scream escaped my lips.

"Minho, it's on her back! The Griever's gone, but we gotta get the bloody hell outta here!" It was tempting to laugh at Newt's quirky accent. All that came out was a soft, muffled sob. Then, they ran, and the tears blurred my vision; vision was a luxury that I could no longer afford.

"Move!" screamed Minho as we made it out of the doors. I would be hearing about this for weeks…if I lived up until then. You couldn't imagine the raw embarrassment in my veins. I was crying in front Newt and Minho—partially screaming if I might add. Yet, the urge to fall unconscious was prevented. What seemed like a second later, we were in the Homestead. My tears dried; my eyes were open, dead set on the sky above me.

"Newt, we're out." The words were like ice from Bart, the girl who'd helped me with my dislocated arm. Newt's breath hitched.

"What do you mean?" he returned, hanging onto her every word. Bart looked at Newt pitifully and my own heart broke.

"We're out of the Serum."

"What do you mean we're out?! We get shipments every week!" Newt yelled, but Bart stood her ground. Medicine was her territory—not his.

"I've told you this. The Serum hasn't come up since Doug died, and that was nearly four weeks ago." Newt's silence was painful in a different way.

"Get out," growled the boy, his hair hanging in front of his eyes. Bart didn't need to hear it again.

A long, heavy breath choked out of my lungs, and a dry smile hung around my lips like a noose. Newt sat on the table next to me, head still down.

"Do you want to die?" that voice droned. I knew that was coming; it was impeccable to see that Newt was even by my side. I chuckled despite the pain still etching away the base of my spine.

"I don't think it would be a very good idea to. Cott would be so upset," I lilted. He didn't laugh.

"If you want to, just tell me. You seem like you're already making plans—running out in the Maze, allowing yourself to be Gally's punching bag. You're not very smart, are you, Heart?"

"Maybe. Or I could just be weak." Newt shot me a glare, his pretty eyes now filled with annoyance and tinges of fury.

"Jeez, just making a joke before I die." I knew it was the wrong thing to say after I'd heard it aloud. Newt's stare of hatred softened. "Don't say that," he whispered, tiredly.

"What do you want me to say?! That everything's going to be fine. I'll be in a better freakin place? Face it, Newt. I'm just like Reth." This made Newt shoot up, looking at me as if I was the most putrid thing on the planet.

"Like Reth? Heart, she died because of Minho. You…because of the both of us." As if all of the energy had sucked out of me, I huffed another breath and let my head fall to the side. The pain had died to a dull throb, and cloudy nausea took over.

"I'm sorry…" I murmured, small tears welling up in the sides of my eyes. Newt's breath fell silent. He sat back down and took my hand gently.

"Hey, mate," Newt cooed, "nothing can hurt you anyway. You have my bracelet." If I had no pride, I would've sprung into tears at that moment. Instead, I bit my lip and watched Newt's trained eyes study me. A tiny smirk appeared on his face as he squeezed my hand tighter.

"I've just decided something, slinthead."

I laughed while silently crying; it was the best I could manage at the moment. "What's that, Newt?" He brushed his fingers against my cheek, wiping tears away. Nothing felt better because it was then that I felt my most alive despite oncoming death. He gave me another toothy grin that I could love for millions of years and shrugged.

"I'm not gonna let you go."

**I hate you feels. I hate you.**


	19. A Pulse

**Yo, slintheads. I'm at Destin, Florida, so hopefully, I'll get to updating before the week is out. I hope you guys are having a great summer and enjoy the chapter.**

**Keep running,**

**~M&amp;M**

_Chapter 19~ A Pulse_

To ease your nervous mind, I would like to tell you that death is much like falling asleep. But, I wouldn't know. I wanna say that death is like closing your eyes. You are shaded off from the rest of the world, but you can still think, you can still imagine. Someday, I'll know what death feels like. I'll tell you then.

The images of grass swaying in the breeze embraced me while waking up. I have to tell you that that was the best sleep I'd gotten in a while. Warm and huddled in a ball—like a warm winter. I yawned and sat up sleepily. No one was in the Homestead, so I closed my eyes and lied back down. The realization came around that time. I was supposed to be dead.

The Homestead makeshift door opened and Cott walked in, pulling off her gloves and washing her face in a nearby bowl. Another breath fell out my lungs while watching her.

"For Christ's sake, I almost died, and you didn't even bring me food," I sighed. The girl whipped around and stared. "You're alive?" A smile found my lips.

"Were you hoping otherwise?"

She rushed forward and hugged me tightly. It was refreshing to feel her radiance once again. Her hug was bony but irreplaceable.

"You don't look hurt at all," she commented, helping me to my feet. Nodding, I affirmed, "That's because I'm not." Cott's smile was one of the most genuine that'd been seen in the Glade for quite a while. She breathed life into that place despite the imperative depression we faced. The light outside signified that morning had already come. I was sure everyone presumed me dead. Cott opened the door for me; I stepped out into the strong, welcoming light. "Oscar thinks you're a danger jinx now since you keep ending up in predicaments where someone ends up hurt," Cott laughed.

I chuckled with her while looking around.

"He might be right," said I while scraping mud off my boots, "I seem to attract harm." Cott shrugged.

"Well, whatever you may be, I want you and Oscar to meet me at the bonfire tonight. You're sure you're alright?" I nodded in her direction. The words couldn't seem to pass my lips faster.

"Where's-"

"Newt?" answered Cott, "By the fields. They're about to leave. I assumed you'd want to see him." Cott pointed across the Glade to a pair of boys trudging out to the Maze walls.

My legs moved before I realized it. An arm snatched the back of my shirt, and I stumbled back. "Wait, Heart,"

I rubbed my sore shoulders while looking at her.

"There's something you don't know. You were asleep for four days. Your pulse was there but slowing by the hour. On the fourth day, you had no pulse, so we presumed you dead through the night. I came in this morning to check your pulse again and scratch your name off the Wall."

Things came into clear view like a covering sheet leaving my eyes. Cott's normal brilliant eyes were faded, and pink rawness surrounded them. She was looking worse than I was.

"Cott…" I whispered, feeling my heart sink in my stomach. She shook her head, letting her eyes fall.

"No, I'm okay now. Oscar helped me out. Just…Everyone else thinks you're dead, especially Newt. Minho had to do everything in his power to get Newt to go in the Maze today." The news hurt much like the Griever stings. He cared about me enough to mourn. That wasn't something I'd guess to see out of the boy whom I'd hit in the face on first sight. I nodded at Cott.

"Okay," I replied taking a look back at the distant boys, "I want to go over there."

_What do you really expect to happen when you're proving you're not dead? Happiness? Tears of joy? Was that what I was supposed to assume would occur?_

I remember so much from the Glade now, but most of it has shriveled into hazy memories of oblivion, nevertheless Newt's expression was one impossible to forget. I think he smiled; maybe there were tears. The expression was one showing his weak hope finally proven helpful. Then, his eyes glistened like water, and Newt ran over to me. Long arms held me against him; Newt's chin rested on my head, and his hands stroked my hair as well. Tears welled up in my throat. It took all the energy in me to choke them down.

His voice mumbled, "I thought you were dead." A laugh slipped from my throat.

"I did too." Newt never let go of me, just held tighter as if promising nothing would ever get to me again. Finally, his grip softened and released me.

"How is this even possible?" began Minho. Cott rocked on her heels shrugging.

"Maybe Griever stings are immune to girl Runners. I don't know," she thought aloud. I shook my head nonchalantly.

"Then Reth would be alive." Cott cocked her eyebrow. "You know about Reth?" inquired she. I smirked and replied, "Long story."

There was so much built-up energy inside me that I wanted to laugh. Was that weird? It's not every day you get to wake up and seriously thank God you're still alive. I remembered people telling younger me to be thankful for every day I had left to live. Whether I followed that advice or not, there was no denying it now. Time was the most precious item in my inventory at the moment. I needed to learn to use it.

I didn't protest when Minho told me to hang back and recover as a Track-hoe. I needed to see Oscar anyway; none of this was fair to him. Cott gave me a fresh pair of clothes because my previous ones were torn and dried with dirt. She gave me a green shirt with the sleeves cut off at the elbows. She also gave me skinny jeans and fixed my hair back in its twirled ponytail. Approaching Oscar was one of the hardest parts. He was busy spreading seeds around the field when I came up to him.

"I told Cott you weren't dead," the boy remarked nonchalantly. He faced me and pulled me into a signature, warm hug. Though, I couldn't smile like I was hoping to. For so long, I put Oscar in the background despite all that he did for me. Oscar acted as a guardian angel and a true friend. He helped me grow into a Track-hoe and inspired me to go out in the Maze. Oscar deserved more than he was given credit for.

"I'm so sorry," I struggled. He shook his head and smiled. "Don't be." Then, he leaned over and kissed my forehead, making my heart flutter rapidly. But it was all wrong? Why was it so wrong? _I'd be perfectly okay falling in love with Oscar._

Why did it feel so odd?

Never did it feel like a day passed between Oscar and I. He still told vague puns every chance he made them up. One of these included the two eggs "cracking" each other up.

He was a sweetie; anyone could tell, but was he always like that? Didn't Oscar ever worry about his family?

"Hey," I began to grab his attention, "did you ever remember anything about your past life?" Oscar dug his fingers into the seed bowl, pulling out a handful.

"I knew more than most people when I got out of the Box. Like…I remember my mom listened to a hell of a lot of rock music while pregnant with my sibling. I remember that my dad was a very important person and went to work every day in a suit and tie. He'd always say that I was important, but I never believed him. That's all I remember."

I wished I knew more. Out of all the people in the Glade, Abe and I had the most contact with our parents. There was no doubt in my mind now that he was my brother. I only needed to confront him about it.

"Well, I don't remember much, but I know I have a father and a brother. I believe I know whom it is too." Oscar raised his eyebrows.

"Who's that?" asked the boy with the seeds.

"Abe."

"The really tall boy who liked Reth? You think it's him?"

There were small amounts of disbelief in his tome if voice but I ignored it for the sake of both of us. Nothing was set in stone yet. So I shrugged. "Seems reasonable. We look alike and act alike," I responded.

"Sometimes the person you're looking for isn't exactly like you—it varies. I do hope you find your brother though." I smile gratefully.

"I hope you find your family as well. I'd like to meet them sometime." He chuckles and adds, "You watch—Cott's probably going to turn out to be my sister or something." I laughed with him and grabbed a handful of tiny seeds. Then, a scrawny boy with stick-like arms made his way up to us, smiling dumbly. He was carrying a large basket of roots, munching on one nonchalantly.

"Oh, hey, Abe," I remarked, pouring the seeds in both of my hands. His eyes smiled back to me, and Oscar couldn't help but laugh.


	20. (SC) Happy, Little Family

**So this one is cool. I decided to have a special chapter in WICKED's point-of-view to spice things up. Also, the chapter is jam-packed with easter eggs and plot twists. I've been waiting to post this! Please enjoy. If you can't figure it out, try to go back to previous chapters and all will eventually be revealed.**

**Keep running.**

**~M&amp;M**

**P.S. Want a chapter theme song?** **Try:**

**"Dark in my Imagination" by of Verona**

**or**

**"Sail" by AWOLNATION**

_Chapter 20 (Special Chapter)~ Happy, Little Family_

Hello. You probably don't know me. I work for the World In Catastrophe Kill-zone Experiment Department. I wasn't always into that though. I remembered my old life so clearly and vividly. I lived in Michigan. Where exactly faded over time in memory. None of it mattered anymore. The tap of my shoes hitting the floor seemed to entrance me. The maddening echoes bounced off every crevice of every hall. There was always work to be done, more research to be done, more spying on Group C. Right now, I wasn't on the greatest terms with WICKED. I was one of the newest members, and none much cared for my uneasiness in the situation at hand. They thought I was doubtful of their methods and rebellious because my children were taken away for testing. My wife was killed in front of my daughter for trying to stop WICKED. No one can stop us. She deserved the punishment for defying us.

I am thirty-nine years old. Nothing made me happier in my life than my daughter. She was the most stubborn person you could imagine. She knew how to handle a gun and a longbow well. But she spent an awful lot of time with this extremely tall, thin girl with this putrid-looking jacket. Don't think I was extremely melodramatic when she was taken away. Yes, I denied her leaving and cried a bit, but she was going to a worthwhile cause.

My appointed task at the moment was to mentor Thomas and work with him and Teresa on the Glade's activity. Everything was going well but Subject "Amelia" was screwing things up more than possible. The results she was showing in the Maze were mind-boggling. When tested for immunity towards Griever stings, she was a negative but a positive whilst in the Trial. She also never hinted any invisibility towards a Griever's sight. The engineers were working on the possibility of a malfunction in the system. If she was supposed to die that day from the Griever, our data collected would've been tarnished, and running the Trials over again so it could be done correctly was improbable due to our time limit.

It was imperative that Thomas would enter Group C and use their diversity to their advantage—especially Subject "Amelia". The programming team was working on how to extract her from the Maze Trials and kill her. We couldn't specifically reprogram the Grievers but controlling the kids in the Glade was possible. "I know you. You work with some of the best of the best, huh? Nice to make your acquaintance."

I faced the doorway in the hall and saw a figure of a very spindly older gentleman with ruffled greying hair and sallow skin. The man adjusted the spectacles on the bridge of his nose.

"I should say the same," I replied. The gentleman held out his hand, and I took it, slightly disgusted by his complexion.

"My name is Dr. Shore. I'm head of the digital construction department. So, you're the new head honcho 'round here till Ava gets back." I shrugged, straightening my coat and tie.

"Yes, I suppose," I bantered. Dr. Shore exited the doorway, holding the grey cup of black coffee. He ran bony fingers through his hair, explaining why it was so messy. Dr. Shore sighed, eyes moving around the hallway hoping time would fly by faster. Then, he told me, "I don't think Thomas is ready to go in the Maze yet." This came as a bloodcurdling surprise. Thomas nearly was ready to go in. If WICKED didn't believe so, the Trials would go on even further. It seemed nowadays the only thing WICKED officials were wondering was, _What would happen if the Gladers got out of the Maze before Thomas and Teresa arrived?_

Well, that would mean our success would have to be studied with the utmost dedication. "What do you mean, Dr. Shore?" I asked, uneasy of what he was to say. I couldn't have failed this. They might've killed me like my wife, Jesse. Then no one could protect Subject "Amelia" until it was no longer possible. I could only protect her for so long. If I attempted to stop her murder, my true intentions would be revealed. I certainly would die. The only way for her to live would be to get out. Quick.

"I mean," said Shore, "we've analyzed Thomas's progress since the beginning. Up to this point, we only see intellectual skills increasing. Crucial aspects such as critical thinking and thinking on a small time span or with little to no resources haven't been accomplished yet. As a matter of fact, progress in these categories has been slower than ever."

I eyed the man, endeavoring to understand what was being implied. I replied, "What do you suppose we do about it?" My mind wandered to Thomas's words yesterday morning. I was telling him about his mother and her courageous act of donating her only son for the sake of science. Thomas was merely a little boy at the time and might not have remembered much, but Thomas spoke as if a day didn't pass between them. He remembered simple things of his past life—mundane things. Maybe that was enough for him to carry on emotionally.

"We need to focus the other Gladers getting out of the Maze Trials by themselves. Also, we must set our focus on removing Amelia from the Glade. She will wreck havoc on our experiment until the results are tarnished. This is what I propose."

After parting ways with Dr. Shore, I walked down the hall to my destination: the Experimentation Examination Lab, or as we called it, "The EEL". I was almost caught trying to reach Subject "Amelia" in that room; it was what connected us to the Maze. I could see not only all the Glader's bodily information (heart rate, blood pressure, oxygen intake…etc.), but I was also able to examine all their personal life information and what they were thinking. All was recorded of course. Since the night I contacted Subject "Amelia", I've regretted every bit of it. If only I told her the rest of the secret words to escape! At least it was something though. Maybe they'd have enough sense to figure the rest of it out. Sighing dramatically, I entered the lab and stared at the large screen, glowing the image of my son, smiling brightly at the sky. A small smile formed on my lips. They didn't deserve it—any of it. He ran his fingers through his hair and shrugged dirt off his shoulder, walking over to my daughter, unaware of anything going on. That was the worst part—the not knowing.

Oh dear, have I not introduced myself? My apologies sincerely. You know how it is, trying to hold your life together like crumbling pieces of a puzzle. Truly, it is frustrating and boils my blood—all WICKED's fault.

About six months ago, I was appointed assistant director of World In Catastrophe Kill-zone Experiment Department and have lived in their facility since.

I am Andrew Delphi Janson.

Others know me by A.D. Janson.


	21. A Name is Not A Gift

**Hey, gladers.**

**This is a good chapter and I hope you all enjoy it, but I want to kinda open up my heart for a second.**

**I think the source of my slight Maze Runner depression trails back to the fact that I am not an actress in the Maze Runner movies. It makes me so happy seeing videos of TBS, WP, KHL, and etc…being funny and stupid and enjoying the people around them. Then I sort of accidentally imagine myself with them playing whatever character during the movies and just being able to hang out with them and be their friend. Playing fugitive and eating dinner and playing Mario-Kart and doing interviews while Will makes English jokes and Kaya smiles like the sweetest girl ever. I don't need much. Just being able to be around the Maze Runner cast like I'm their best friend would be all.**

**Keep running.**

**~M&amp;M**

**Definite chapter theme song! Try:**

**"Stay Alive" by José González**

**The lyrics from the first part of the chapter are from the song.**

_Chapter 21~ A Name is Not a Gift_

_There's a rhythm in rush these days_

_Where the lights don't move and the colors don't fade. Leaves you empty with nothing but dreams._

_In a world gone shallow and a world gone lean…_

_I will stay with you tonight. Hold you close to the morning light. In the morning, watch a new day rise. Do whatever just to stay alive. _

_Do whatever just to stay alive. _

_There is a truth and it's on our side._

_Dawn is coming; open your eyes._

After the bonfire that same night, I did as Cott asked and met up with Oscar and her. Flakes of ashes remained floating in the air like volcanic snow. Some ash drifted through Cott's blond hair, making her look like an ember from the fires. It rested in Oscar's hair nicely, not altering his pepper-like appearance. Cott's hands shook through her golden wisps, not necessarily removing the smokey ash but shifting them in deeper.

"Hey, guys," I remarked, pacing over to them. Her eyes found Oscar's and dropped back to mine. She replied, "Hey, I wanted to talk to both of you."

Shrugging, I inquired, "What's up?" Again glancing at Oscar, Cott took a long sigh. _Was she admitting something?_

Then she said it, "You remember that first day I met you, don't you? I paused for a while thinking I remembered something. In all honesty, I did remember something from my past, Heart—you." My breath hitched in my throat, creating a space of ugly silence between all of us. Cott's eyes dropped to the ground, and her fingers trembled.

"It wasn't much that I remembered but enough that I should've told you," she sighed.

"What was I?" I begged. Cott glanced over at Oscar again—probably looking for help. "You didn't help make the Maze. You had no part of that. I remembered knowing you somehow. You…you were a soldier, the Soldier. I remember that very well. Oh, and you liked Oatmeal creme pies on Sundays."

I choked out a laugh, then forced it back down. _Soldier. Why does everyone think I'm a soldier?_ Covering my mouth with my hand, I let out a trembling whimper. Maybe who I was was gone. But did that mean I still couldn't regain what I lost? At that moment, finally knowing somewhat of who I was, I _knew_ I was going to find my family. I was gonna stay alive.

The loudest sound I could imagine was what woke me up; I think I might've screamed. My eyes scanned the Glade, trying to find where the sound was coming from. Newt chuckled while walking up next to me.

"It's just the new greenie. Consider yourself lucky, love. You're no longer the greenbean of the Glade." He walked with the other boys, and a small smile formed on my lips. New greenie.

Cott told me on that every three to five weeks, a new kid comes up the Box, scared out of his or her wits. Following Oscar, I got to the Box to hear the thunderous Box port at the top. There were several seconds of nothing, anticipation traveled like an odor in the crowd.

Sorry, bad comparison.

Then, it opened. Everyone ducked heads down to get a good look.

"Aw, it's just another ugly shank," groaned a voice in the crowd. Murmurs of agreement followed after it. I weaseled my way through sweaty boys and dirty girls until I saw. It was a short, blonde boy, looking around fourteen-years old. He was staring around at everyone like we were a different species. Newt nodded to Gally on the other side of the Box.

"Go get him, Gally." The boy brutishly leapt down into the Box, the rumble scaring the boy out of his wits.

"'Sup, slinthead. First day on the job." Alby tossed down the rope, and I think my heart broke a little bit. I was no longer one of Newt's priorities. This shank took up my title as greenie. The boy dragged himself up the Box along with Gally.

My eyes were dead set on the Box though, hoping I could jump down in it and never see the Glade again.

"Heart!" My attention was pulled up to Newt. He crossed his arms dominantly.

"I want you to show newbie around. Yeah?" he asked. My eyes traveled to Cott. She was looking right at me, waiting for an answer. I replied, "Wouldn't you want Cott to do it? She mentored me and look how I turned out."

"Yeah," Minho teased, "look how you turned out." I scowled in his direction. Newt shook his head, telling me, "No. You need to do it. Past-greenies are supposed to." The crowd separated, returning to work. Newt remained, trying to explain why he couldn't remember who he was or where he was. I walked up to the both of them, looking at Newt like he was somehow joking.

"Try to explain everything today, bring him to the Wall to write his name, and bring him back to me. Winston can deal with him tomorrow," said he.

I nodded in his direction and took off towards the Wall with the boy following right behind me. "Wait," he called, "hold on a minute." I slowed my pace so the blonde kid could catch up.

"Where am I?" he asked. I told him about the Glade much like Cott did to me. He deserved to know from the best. _Why am I stuck with this little bugger?_ I thought to myself. Squinting, I pointed to the wall with several chicken-scratches in the stone base.

"And that's where we write our names right after remembering them." I handed him a knife after we approached.

"Go crazy." The boy found an empty space then raised the weapon up to the wall. There was a long moment of dull hesitance. But the confusion was nowhere to be found—just sadness. I looked at him, trying to stare right through his eyes like Abe is able to.

"What's the matter?" I asked, leaning next to him. He tried to speak but only a sigh escaped his lips. Then, his hands dropped back to his side. The boy breathed, "I don't know who I am." I wanted to smile because he reminded me of myself so much. I was in Cott's position, and I used to be him. What was I supposed to say? Was I supposed to give him a name like Cott did or let him figure it out on his own? The words slipped off my tongue like oil.

"Make one up." He looked at me silently, glimmers of gratefulness in the corners of his eyes.

He placed the carving tool back in its previous position and scratched in a large, neat letter: A.

Then, he moved his land ever so gracefully, now drawing the next letter like it was a picture: R.

I watched as he dug the short knife back into the wall, fighting to add his new name to ours: I.

Finally, he let his wrist take the last letter, endeavoring to make it the finest out of all of 'em: S.

Aris. Cute. He peered at me while his hand dropped back to his side. I tried to give him a reassuring smile, but I can promise you, it probably wasn't very reassuring at all. Aris now gave back the knife without hesitation—almost as if he was disgusted by it. I sheathed it back in its place on my hip. There was something that came to mind.

"My name is made up too," I said, playfully balancing my palm on the butt end of the blade. His head titled lazily to the side but only slightly.

"What is it?"

"Heart."

Nothing changed in his eyes, no glimmer of recognition, no flinch of guilt. Aris never met me before in his life. Neither did I to him. Aris was a good liar.

_Damn_, he was a good liar. Then, with ease and natural tendency, he opened his mouth and remarked matter-of-factly, "No, it isn't."


	22. Infinite Slivers of Curiosity

**Gladers,**

**I sort of hate and love this chapter because I wanted to write it better but couldn't find a way to. If you hate it too, I'm so very sorry but it gets better. This one is extremely Heart/Newt, so if you're into that, yay! I'm on , so if you're also into that, yay!**

**Keep running,**

**~M&amp;M**

**Want a theme song for the chapter?**

**Try: "A Moment's Grace" by Boy &amp; Bear**

_Chapter 22~ Infinite Slivers of Curiosity_

"Hey, 'melia," began the perky voice of a girl who's appearance was all too familiar. I identified her as Cott but it wasn't…her. Cott's hair was short and in two stubby pigtails. Her signature jacket was nowhere to be found but replaced with a random band tee-shirt and shorts, emphasizing her stick-like frame. I opened my mouth to ask about the sudden wardrobe change but something else came out instead.

"Sup, Cathy." The words were alien to me. Who was Cathy?

She only smiled and sat in a chair that took form next to me.

Things were wrong. This wasn't the Glade. He let out a sigh and arched out her back.

"So when's your brother coming back? Wasn't he on that band trip to Atlanta or something?" Panic mixed with my confusion and unknown sentences slipped past my lips.

"Yeah. Dad's picking him up right now. Says he needs to take him to these headquarters down in Denver later. I begged to go with them. I mean, they know I want to travel and leaving without me is completely unfair." My hands tried to go to my mouth but were frozen stiff in place.

My words. Those weren't my words. I wanted to scream, to break out of the invisible chains that held me in place, and wake up. Wake up now.

Cott leaned over a bit, her eyes floating in mine. She tilted her head to the side like Aris had days ago.

"You okay?" she offered, her voice now falling empathetic and monotoned. I refused to let a word slip out. No more confusion. This wasn't Cott. Her eyes instantly filled with a mixture of anger, disgust, and despair.

"Amelia! They're coming, Amelia!"

She yanked on my arms, her sharp nails digging into my skin and creating burning cuts that only a razor blade could provide. It took most in me not to scream out. She tore at my clothes, pointing behind me and screaming maliciously. Salty, bloody tears drained out of her eye sockets, yet she still pleaded for my sake.

Then, in the middle of her chaos, the girl paused, leaned her lips to my ear and murmured, "Run or bother not." She drew a last long line down my left arm, spilling blood everywhere.

Screaming had obviously gone on for a while. My heart forced me into a sitting position, and my unadjusted eyes searched every centimeter of my skin for a cut. If there was a cut—even a single, tiny cut—I was done. I was giving up. Nothing.

Only Newt's bracelet.

"Heart, slim it. Slim it!" a voice pierced through my own, droning me out. I hushed at once, seeing Newt crouched in front of me, grabbing both wrists. His eyes were milky and bloodshot, something I hadn't seen before. My heart dropped back to its shadowy position, and my eyes widened.

"What's wrong with me?" I trembled. Newt gave me a terrifyingly small smile.

"Just about everything. But who isn't perfectly insane?" I couldn't answer him. Cott's bloody eyes were branded to the inside of my eyes. Her screams echoed in my eardrums, and I heard it in my own voice. _Do not cry. Heart, I will personally throw you off the top of the Homestead if you cry._

I cried.

"C'mon now, love," he whispered, lifting my chin up slightly.

"What happened?"

I told him about the nightmare, Cott, and the names—Cathy and Amelia. Newt listened to every word and didn't once look at me any differently. Why not? Hell, who knows.

After I finished, we sat silently, and I finally got to see where we were. It was the Homestead. A blanket was draped around my shoulders. I didn't fall asleep there though–

"I brought you here after you started talking in your sleep. Figured I'd be the best person to see when you woke up." A smile formed on my lips dangerously.

"Why's that?" Newt's cheeks flushed red, and a hand ruffled his blonde waves. He shrugged timidly.

"Just seems like whenever you're stuck in that kind of situation, I'm always there. Usually." He glanced behind me at the open section of the wall that acted like a glassless window. Then, he crawled on the bed with me.

"Here, I want to show you something. He pointed to the sky which was not only overfilled with stars but the sky was so clear you could see misty clouds deep in space. Instinct took over, and I smiled.

"Why do you love stars so much?" I asked, never taking my eyes off the sky.

"They've stayed the same," he told me, "thankfully. I remember them so vividly. Stars are…infinite slivers of curiosity. Irreplaceable."

They were, weren't they? Let's look at the big picture. In the last month, everything had happened. But it seemed the nights I needed them most, they stars were provided. Little they were to us, but completely different on another perspective. Maybe to someone else far away, we were tiny and little…but infinite.

My eyes loomed over the Newt.

"Wanna get a better look?" I suggested. He nodded, and we raced out of the Homestead, me holding the thin blanket around my shoulders.

The view was much more incredible from down below. I bounced out, spread the blanket on the ground and grass, and laid down on it.

"What are you doing?" Newt laughed. I patted the spot next to me.

"It looks much better from here. Promise you." He huffed a sigh and joined me. The sky seemed to go on for miles around the Glade. I don't think I had a better moment in all my life.

Fingers—long fingers touched mine. Cold fingers. They wrapped around mine, holding mixtures of confidence and care in every fiber of their existence. I let them hold my own. The thumb lightly brushed across my hand, seemingly telling me he was always going to be there even if he was the last person I wanted to see. It seemed to say I wasn't alone and we were gonna make it and to stay strong like always and he loved…

"You."

I sat up, pulling my hand back. Newt came up too, his eyes filled with hopeless confusion.

My name is Heart, I think.

"What do you mean?"

For the past month, I knew nothing.

"Hello?"

Now…everything.

"You…I've always just needed you," I whispered.

When first finding the Glade, I hid in the shadows. Then, a boy with hair resembling sunshine pulled me out—not forcefully. He made me want out of the darkness. His eyes told a story. They reminded me why I watched him every day. Not out of hate or jealousy. Not even out of longing.

Because I loved him. I'd always loved Newt. More than I could even realize.

His smile met mine, and a hand slid behind my neck.

"Heart, I love you more than you could—will—ever imagine."

Warmth swam through my chest, and my breathing became hesitant and unsteady.

Sometimes, things weren't going to be okay. Sometimes, it's all a lie, a consolation. Not now. It wasn't an excuse.

It was a promise.


	23. There is A Truth

**Oh, all of you are going to hate me after this chapter. ALL OF YOU.**

**Keep running.**

**~M&amp;M**

**Want a chapter theme song? Try:**

**"Here with Me" by Susie Suh**

_Chapter 23~ There is A Truth_

If you think about it, I was kind of lucky. He had the decency to wake me up before Minho or Cott saw. My eyelids broke apart, allowing light to temporarily blind me. A hand stroked my arm then the hereditary dark circles underneath my eyes.

"Love, c'mon, it's morning."

I huffed a long breath and laid back on his chest. "Did I ever tell you I'm not a morning person?" I said.

A chuckle warmed his chest, lifting my spirit a bit. "I think you've made it clear. If you don't get up though, everyone else will see." My eyes opened quickly, and my body quickly moved into a sitting position. Unfortunately, in the process, I rammed my head onto Newt's jaw

"Oh god, I'm so sorry," my words rambled. My fingers went to his jaw, trying to subdue the pain. He watched me, smiling softly. I gently placed my lips on the side of his mouth, feeling prickles of fear and timidness in my every vein. He did this to me. The memories of the night before floated back to mind.

"You mean so much to me, Newt," I said matter-of-factly. He smiled again, saying, "See, now why do you say things like that? I feel like I've just been knighted when you tell me that."

I couldn't help but laugh at him, and we bundled the blanket back up and moved onto the Map Room. I'd been back on Runner duty since Aris came. It felt so good because we hadn't run into any serious Griever problems lately. I also learned to use my invisibility to my advantage.

"Silver…that's my favorite color," I remarked, slipping a dagger into my thigh strap. Newt looked up from buckling the leather strap around his chest.

"What's that?" he began. "I don't even know your favorite color," I told him. Newt looked off in thought, fingers rested in the hook of the strap's buckle.

Then, he looked down at me and said, "Green."

"Why green?"

"Well, I don't know really. Maybe because I see it in everything. Everyone used to tell green symbolizes greed and evil. I think it otherwise. Green symbolizes the good, the bad—life."

I chuckled and followed that with, "Dude, you're so deep I can't even see you anymore." Newt laughed and shrugged. "Sorry. I can get carried away like that."

"Why did you want to know something as simple as that?" he asked, his English accent slurring the words together. It was my turn to shrug and I returned, "I suppose I wanted to know small things about you since I'm not really sure what happened last night."

He flinched at my words, flickers of worry spreading in his eyes. _Was that wrong to say?_

"Well," Newt emitted, "you told me you needed me…and I pretty much said it back."

The realization couldn't have come sooner. It was wrong. All of it was wrong. I took a weak step back. That was when I noticed what was wrong in the situation. Stupid! So stupid! You don't love people, Heart. I had told him I cared about him twice without knowing what I was saying in the first place.

"No…no…oh no. Newt, I shouldn't have. I didn't know what I was saying or why. I just…Neither of us need to be focusing on this. We're in a trap, and I can't deal with another conflicting element of surprise."

If there was ever a time when he looked so vulnerable and cold it was now. The cloudy memories of the night before returned like temporary amnesia or consequences of a hangover. I meant none of those words. I didn't love Newt.

"I'm so sorry," I lamented. The boy ran a hand through his hair, staring down into space.

"You-You're right. I didn't mean anything by it either. Just wanted to make you felt better because of the last couple weeks. Let's just get out there, and you can prove to me why we chose you as a Runner."

He moved away from me and towards the door, but I quickly caught his arm.

"Newt, really. I'm sorry." He shook his arm away, sending daggers of rejection through my every fingertip. It was the first real sign of rejection I'd received since waking up in the Box. And the emptiness it gave me inside was deadly.

_I don't love anyone. I don't love anyone. I will never love anyone. I cannot love anyone. Why should I? _

I dart around the corner, trying to leave as much space between Newt and I as possible without it looking suspicious. Why did I still hear his words? Everyone's words? Why wouldn't it stop? Why did it seem like every time something strange or dangerous occurred, I seemed to be connected to it? I wanted everything to stop, and I just wanted normal again when I didn't have to worry about the events of the next day or the next hours. Why didn't I get a sliver of normal?

It took a while for me to heal. Aris caught along after a couple of days, became, surprisingly, the newest Med-Jack, and the Glade was like a second home for him…well, a _new_ home for him. A new home for all of us. About two weeks had passed. Nothing more was discovered in the Maze, and the frustration was building up. Each and every second not finding anything ripped at my patience. I was surprised there was any left by the end of the second week. Most of my time was spent figuring myself out. Soon, I simplified things down. My name is probably Heart. I have a brother, yes. I want to go home more than anything in the world, and I don't even know if that home exists. I am the Soldier. Of what? Who knows. But like hell am I gonna find out.

I remember walking to the Fields. I was going to talk to Oscar again that day about the water supply. He'd told me that we were beginning to be limited on some things. I stuffed my hands in my pockets, Newt's bracelet barely brushing up against my jeans. Newt.

Then, the first drop hit my nose. I flinched and stopped in my tracks. Seconds passed, and another touched my shoulder. More. More. Falling like jewels raining from the—

Rain. It was rain. A downpour deluged me all at once, choking everything I knew about the Glade out of me. I stumbled across my own feet and booked it down to the Homestead where every other Glader was heading. It had never rained in the Glade, yet clouds were forming, and a deafening boom was shaking the walls of that place.

"Calm down, everyone. Just get inside. We'll explain it in a bit!" demanded Newt, meaning to direct us to shelter. He shoots me a look, and worry fills my every pore. There was something ironic about that situation. I'd seen rain before. I had felt it on my skin. _Why should I be afraid of it? If fact, rain is one of the greatest joys in a lifetime._

I reached out my hand and snatched up a raindrop on my finger. It dribbled down and cooled my skin. Why was it so long overdue to us?

I sucked on the drop and tasted only a icy, flavorless liquid—water. A smile crept onto my face, and I confidently held out for more rain. "What in the bloody hell are you doing?" barked a voice behind me. I spun around, holding the cupped water with care. I faced Newt, staring at me as if I was a grotesque creature. "It's just rain," I replied, offering out the water.

"And do you know how it got there?" His tone of voice faded to a rude and pessimistic one. I poured the rain out of my hands and glared.

"What? Do you think it was me?" I snapped, frustration entering the conversation. I moved out of his way. Then, the words came out. "Look, I know you're upset that I don't love you, nevertheless, you have no right to treat me as if I was your enemy." They were so very wrong words. Newt's glare softened to a hurt, disappointed stare. I opened my mouth to apologize, hoping he'd brush it off without a second thought. And what were the chances of that?

He stopped me with, "Get inside." I gave him a look that said everything that he wouldn't let me.

Through the makeshift doors I went like Newt instructed me to. I may not have been his favorite person at the moment, but he was still the leader of the Glade. He would make no other exceptions for me anymore.

Standing up on a short level added with his height, Newt towered over us as a pastor would in their his or her church. Alby's whistle grabbed our attention since the panicked blubbering was too annoying before. Newt looked out to all of us at first, his eyes refusing to meet my own. Then, a hushed silence fell over every single one of us. He began speaking:

"We have a problem. Um, I guess that's obvious. If you don't recall, it has never rained once here. Not on the first day and—until five minutes ago—not on the last. What that means I don't know. But we can all agree things are changing…quickly. We receive a shank who puts—as you'd say—the a** in asset. We find out Reth was also once our advantage. Now this. This is all planned by the Creators—every bit of it. I'm not concerned with the rain as much as what it signifies. They could shut off our water supply. The Box could stop. Maybe…we're running out of time. If I were them, I'd think we've got it too easy. Whatever happens, we need to be prepared. That means I want all Runners out there every day. Including newbie. Disregard what you've been working on now and devote your focus to the unusual sections. Be out there as long as you possibly can, and I want extreme perceptivity.

"The rest of you should preserve as much water as possible. Unless you're a Runner, keep away from the Walls and…don't die. I know it's scary—believe me, I wouldn't be up here if I had thought everything was going to be a bloody cake walk. I want to make it out as much as the rest of you. But we can't do that sitting around and waiting for the shuckin' exit to reveal itself. My advice to all of you? Be ready to fight…and perhaps die in the process."


	24. Her Simple Question

**Hey Gladers,**

**Sorry but I've been busy with band camp this week. Oh, I LOVE this chapter. Hold it in, HeartxNewt fans. This is the moment of glory. Feels, don't fail me now.**

**Keep running.**

**~M&amp;M**

_Chapter 24~ Her Simple Question_

Obviously, Newt wasn't relying on the approval of everyone. How surprised I'd be if every shuckface was on board with his plan. He only needed them to listen. Newt ran his tongue over his bottom lip and stepped off the podium. Rain raged on, pounding out our loud thoughts and molding new, fearful ones.

They set us up with blankets, telling us to pick a spot to sleep like we would outside the Homestead. Of course, it was 1:09 p.m., according to my watch, so my insomnia was a malevolent wolf, pursuing me always. My eyes were bloodshot for sure. _Why can't I flip a switch that puts me to sleep immediately?_ I asked myself. While sitting up, my eyes darted around the Homestead, taking in every splinter of every board holding it together. My arms cradled my own body in the long blanket; why was it so difficult to feel warmth? I moved out of the Homestead to underneath the slope in the building—it acted like a roof from the rain in this context. No stars were out, for clouds blindfolded all of us from their light. Never in my life had anyone wanted to be me. That was understandable; who'd want to be as troubled and dead inside as I was?

But no one ever considered what it felt like either. I'm not going to say I was completely depressed. I liked living. I thought of it as a hobby sometimes. I just wished I wasn't living _that_ life. When I made it outside, the first place I looked was to the Fields, soaked and probably containing plants drowned out. I plopped myself down right at the edge of the shadowed shelter, my nose barely touching the rain's territory. Then, I stuck out my tongue and caught billions of tiny raindrops. Footsteps came after, stopping after I pulled my tongue back in.

"A** in asset? You're gonna have to do better than that to make me feel bad." Newt moved closer and sat down next to me. That was when I noticed it wasn't Newt at all but Cott. She smiled stupidly and plunged her arm into the rain, drenching it in an instant.

"I know. He's got tougher skin to break, huh?" I lowered my head slightly in shame that my mind was glued to him constantly since that night. "Sorry," I found myself muttering, angry at myself. Cott brushed it off, taking up the attitude she was born with.

"No worries. I'm going to guess you don't want to talk about…whatever happened." My shoulders made a movement that could've been accounted for as a shrug. I didn't want to withhold the truth from her. For Christ's sake, she told me about Gally tormenting her. My glazed eyes found hers. I then told her, "You were right when you said I needed better social skills. I'm not very good at this whole 'making friends' thing. Cott laughed, throwing back her head in the process. Her laugh was a breeze, lifting up my worries and brushing them off as if they were specks of dust.

"I don't think that's your problem anymore. Your social skills are kinda a lost case." I attempted a smile, but Cott proceeded. "It's Newt, right? I could tell something was up while he was making that speech today."

I told her everything—about that starry night, sleeping with him, and rejecting him. Not once did she say a word but let me speak my peace. She knew the story of me. Yet, it was so pitiful, I was astounded that she even paid attention. After there were no more words to be said (though Cott may've disagreed), she offered me a look that was all too familiar—from the time she confessed her past of Gally.

"Heart," asked my best friend, "do you love Newt?"

Was it that simple? All I had to do was ask myself that? What was the answer? Why did it scare me more than anything to find out? I stared into space, letting blind obliviousness take over. God, how I wished there was an answer. _Why can't he be a jerk and make it easy?_ I thought. Cott's fingers waved in front of my eyes, only slightly drawing away my attention. She wasn't smiling anymore, but we shared the same grim expression.

"I…don't know…" my words formed. Cott sighed, dropping her hand back in her lap. "Honestly, I didn't expect you to say anything other than that." Was that good or bad? Why did it have to be so complicated? She held my tiny hands in hers. "Do you love him?" she asked again. I vigorously shook my head, pulling away from her.

"No…I can't deal with this. There's the Maze, my family, my friends…I can't focus on l-loving anyone…I-I don't. I can't-" I rambled, trying to get away from the pressure shadowing me. Cott yanked me back in, and our eyes locked. Every emotion she felt for the past month filled her stare to the brim. "Listen to me; set aside all other affecting variables of your life. You were never in the Glade. You were only with Newt. He loves you. Do you love him?" Her words were rays of bright sunshine, temporarily paralyzing me.

He tried so much. He saved my life on more than one occasion. As if he didn't already give up so much for me, Newt made me a Runner, he was there when no one else was…he gave me that bracelet. My gaze shifted down to it. There was always a reason it was treasured more than anything. My fingers crept to it.

_You'd make a good Runner, Heart._

_Nothing can hurt you. You have my bracelet._

_Heart, I love you more than you could—will—ever imagine._

_I'm not gonna let you go._

It was a prestigious honor to be a Runner, to be able to be different. I didn't think about that very often. The admiration did not lie in the title though but who you were able to be around. I remembered how easy it was to tell Newt I loved him even if I was unsure of my words. If his heart was that ragged bracelet then I had my answer. So while the warm rain trickled down my hands and the smell of honeysuckle, predicting a long summer, filled my atmosphere, I whispered, "Yes."

Waking up was as difficult as falling asleep for the following reasons: Cott didn't wake me up beforehand; I was tired out from the day before; waking up is just plain hard anyway. But when I was able to lift my head from the ground, I noticed that our comfy little sleeping spot was the earth beneath us. Neither of us had had bothered going inside after my answer to her simple question. My first instinct was to feel the back of my neck which ached unbearably. Cott, so immersed in sleep that an angry mob trampling her wouldn't make her flinch once, was sprawled out on the ground, mumbling something about Frypan's cooking and her own.

"Cott," I yawned, shoving her awake, "get up." She groggily lifted her head and released to worst yawn of morning mouth ever. Gagging, I scrambled.

"God, go brush your teeth before you wilt the Fields and put Oscar out of a job!" She couldn't find my sarcasm and instead clambered to her feet.

"What year is it again?" she moaned, fixating her hair a bit nicer with her fingers. I huffed a breath and walked inside the Homestead to find everyone waking up much like Cott had.

Newt was already up, slipping his shoes on. I stood in the doorway frozen. The sun had come out and lit up the Glade like a shining lamp would. Newt's eyes met mine, and he stood. At first, I only saw him approaching me and hope filled my eyes. Instead, he snaked out of the doorway, grunting, "Excuse me." The small act of rejection fueled my anger dramatically. He walked off into the Glade, and I kept my eyes on him the whole time. Finally, enough ambition filled me up that I stormed out behind him, my cheeks pink with embarrassment

"You were right!" I yelled, stopping him in his tracks, "I do put the a** is asset. I am a worthless burden on all of you. I'm a terrible Runner. I keep secrets from everyone. I'm not as witty as you, I'm not as pretty as Cott, and I make you very mad very easily. I screw up; I'm unpredictable; I'm gonna get myself killed one day. But I'm sorry, and I'm gonna say that because you deserve it—not me. I should've told you that I loved you, but I did not know how. Here's the deal, _love_, I found out I have a father and a brother. I didn't even tell you that my dad spoke to me in the middle of the night one time. I didn't tell you because I didn't know how to. Guess what else? Now, you're the _only_ person I've ever told! Why? Because I trust you, and _I've always loved you_! Bloody hell, I've loved you since you gave me the bracelet, Newt. I love you, and this time I mean it."

I said it.

I said what I felt finally, yet I barely felt any better. Newt's eyes were light, shining with anger and relief. He should've yelled back; he should've ignored me and said something he'd regret and I would possibly cry over. My tears were bundled up in my throat. Their release depended on Newt's reaction. He didn't move at first, then he quickly walked my way and fear entered my bloodstream.

His eyes. They had no anger in them but instead, tears. They brimmed his eyes but didn't dare spill over. He was coming closer. I backed up a step, ready to run if he planned to hit me. That barely seemed like him though. He closed in and breathed, "This is for elbowing me in my nose."

Warm lips kissed my own, bundling up my nerves and suppressing my tears. His hand found the small my back, and his other hand brushed back my hair and gently held my head. It was the first time I'd been kissed—I think I sorta liked it. I kissed him back and placed a hand on his chest. I wanted it to last much longer; his lips were chapped and moved in sync with mine, but my breath ran out quickly and I pulled away. We just stared at each other first. Then, I stood on my toes and wiped away his tears like he had to me before. What could I say to make the moment memorable? I didn't need to say anything. He smiled weakly and wrapped his hand around mine.

"Don't ever take that bracelet off, okay?" he whispered. I nodded and pulled Newt towards me, holding him tightly.


	25. Make It Back Home

**Gladers,**

**Yay! You all like HeartxNewt! This chapter really sums up a lot of things and is the turning point for the story when things get serious. I'm extremely close to finishing up this story and I'll update as we go along. For now, enjoy!**

**Keep running.**

**~M&amp;M**

**P.S. Want a chapter theme song? Try:**

**"In For The Kill" by Billie Marten**

_Chapter 25~Make It Back Home_

It was a late realization let's just say. By the time the words came together (literally), I was skidding along maze passages by myself. I'd grown experienced enough to run independently. It was Sector 7 of course. The other Runners were doing as many surrounding areas as possible. It was a mystery as to why Minho assigned me that Sector alone. My feet were so trained that I barely ever stumbled over myself. My mind, instead of being focused on memorizing the Maze, drifted off to what Minho told me about Reth and what my father told me. My feet quivered and slipped on the floors, sending my body sprawled out over the Maze floors. It connected finally—the words were a code, the Maze's code in fact.

Float. Catch. Bleed. Death. Stiff. Push. It was a code, not a jumble of words.

"Code!" I screamed, disregarding all safety of staying undetected. "It's a da** code!" Hysterical laughter came next, and I struggled to my feet. The whole time I never realized the connection! That was what made me wonder when Minho told me what Reth said. The undeniable urge to return to the Glade and tell Newt was like a painful itch; there was no other choice but to wait and do my job.

There had to be somewhere to put the code obviously, otherwise it was useless. So my eyes scanned around the passage and landed to a section that had just opened. It took several seconds for I came back to my senses. Everything in my body screamed for me to go in.

_What are you waiting for? Go!_

And that's what I did. The only echoing sound was of my feet hitting the floor beneath me. Oddly enough, it filled me with a sense of bravery, courage.

The hallway passage was a long one and, before I could comprehend the circumstances, I was halted abruptly at a sort of a cliff. Beyond it lied only bleakness and pitch black. I stared for the longest time, trying to understand why Minho, Newt, and I didn't run into the cliff before. Looking closer, the glare of a shift of light found my attention.

"What the hell?" I breathed absentmindedly. The harder I stared, I noticed the bleakness was sort of an entrance. It shook. The ground shook, and the clicking commenced. Time's up. Marking my place in my mental map, I absconded my way back down the maze. I slid down the corridor and, without thinking, screamed. My heart pounded in my chest as my own eyes met that of a giant Griever's. It didn't need to see me to know I was there anymore. The thing turned and released a wretched growl. In mere milliseconds, I was racing a different direction, wondering why the hell it was always me.

Did they try to tell us things were going to be okay? Did they tell us everything was good? We were doing the right thing? I couldn't even tell anymore. I couldn't tell anyone anything.

Sweat slicked my forehead, for the information I held was as valuable as life itself. If I didn't make it out, it was unlikely anyone would. The rumbling of the ground sounded that my time had run out. Turning a last corning as feeling the hiss of the Griever behind me, I spotted the opening. Newt and Minho had already made it out. A small group of people including Alby, Aris, Cott, Oscar, Newt, and Minho was waiting behind the doors. Newt's face broke out in terror and turned starch white. He cupped his hands around his mouth and screamed, "C'mon, Heart! Heart—go!" The fear was now stinging my eyes because there was that possibility that that time I wouldn't make it, I wouldn't scrape by. Looking at Newt was all I could do. I'd die pleased if he was the last thing I saw, his dreading but caring eyes. That'd be okay for me.

"Get the bloody hell outta there!" yelled the boy. Pushing with the last of my strength, I stumbled but clung to my ambition. A scream escaped my lips.

The next thing I felt was long arms gripping me so tightly that I could no longer breath. Blonde waves nuzzled in my own hair and trembling breath whispering consolation in my hair. The air was chilled and deadly frozen. No one said a word and I realized I was still alive. In the mess of my worries and Newt's constant fear, I found my voice, my message.

"Code…It's a code." My voice was so soft only Newt could decipher it.

"What is?" he murmured back. I pushed him back gently; he hesitantly released me.

"The Maze," I told everyone, "is not like a puzzle in a children's magazine. It's not simple enough to have an exit and entrance. There's a code to it." Minho appeared angered by this.

"What the shuck does that mean?" Alby barked. I wiped my sweat palms on my jeans in nervousness. "What were the three words Reth told you, Minho, before she died?"

Minho repeated the words—death, stiff, and push—to everyone. I nodded, relieved I could finally catch my breath.

"I know I have kept…tons…of secrets from all of you but this is the last one. I know the code to the Maze, and I know where the exit is." Silence infected all of us like a sudden pestilence.

Then the Glade exploded.

"A code! You know how to get out of the Maze?!" Oscar hollered, only adding to my frustration. "Shut up already, okay? You all panic when I try to explain this. The world isn't ending—good god."

The group hushed to an angry mutter.

"I found the exit by accident. It's in a long crevice in Sector 7. Off a cliff, there's some kind of tunnel leading somewhere. That's our best chance out of here."

I wouldn't have believed myself if I hadn't already seen the evidence. How was I going to get them to believe me?

_Calm down, Heart. They're your friends. They'll believe you._

Cott's eyes met mine in the inevitable silence. She didn't smile nor did she frown. Instead she looked inspired. The girl met me at my side. "She's right—she's kept an extreme amount of secrets from us but have they once led us down an unhelpful path? We've gained advantage against the Creators. Now, we have a way out of this hell hole. If you think for a second that this is an unworthy chance for taking, then you're lying. Heart here has barely scraped by; she's been risking her klunkin' a** out there, not for herself, but for us. I don't want to believe that she's found a way out. Honestly, I'm scared, but aren't we all? All I can tell you now is this: I'm not staying here another month. I _want_ to risk my life to make it out. Don't we owe Heart that much?

"She's important to every single one of us in different ways. Heart is now just another Runner. She's not just Reth. She's my best friend—all I have left. So I'll be damned if I don't walk out of the Glade with her by my side."

The words were very filtered but powerful nonetheless; she couldn't have left us feeling more surprised than she already did. Who knew Cott, the girl in the tacky, insulated jacket, had words of thunder in her chest.

The more silent we grew, the more confident the girl became. Then her hand groped for mine and found it. That girl was my best friend. I never thanked her—why did I never thank her? Her hand held onto mine for dear life, for she knew the future. And according to her golden wisps and peachy smirk, it was brighter than the sun.

**God, I love Cott. She is my favorite character here.**


	26. Deadly

**Hey Gladers,**

**I just watched ****_Titanic_**** an hour ago. Now, I want to punch someone in the face and cry in their arms.**

**Keep running.**

**~M&amp;M**

**P.s. Want a chapter theme song? Try:**

**"Still Sane" by Lorde**

**and**

**"The Scorch" by Shelby Merry**

_Chapter 26~Deadly_

You would've been surprised that I could understand how it took two hours for Newt to calmly spread word that we'd found an escape, but, for the life of me, I couldn't comprehend how Cott could eat seven bowls of Frypan's "grub" and not get fat. The spoon shoveled inside her mouth for what seemed like the fiftieth time. Oscar was slouched over the table, deprived of sleep. His hair was frizzy and sticking out in short spikes. His hazel eyes were outlined in pink from being rubbed raw. His cheek rested in his arm propped up on the table.

"How can you eat that much without hurling once?" groaned Oscar, pausing to take breaths in between. Oscar was the first to bring up such a mundane topic. Getting his mind off of the approaching situation hid how terrified he was.

_Not in the swing of things…_

_But what I really mean is not in the swing of things yet._

_All work and no play…_

I watched her glare at Oscar, scarfing down the last bits of her seventh bowl. She tossed down her spoon and grumbled, "I'm going back for more. Don't follow me." Oscar rolled his eyes and let his head fall onto the table loudly. Muffling a snicker, we looked at each other. Our table was empty except for us. My fingers found my way to Oscar's hair, twirling around the softness of each lock. His shady dark eyes kept on mine, and for a moment, my heart leapt. Then he ruined the moment.

"I saw Newt kiss you."

My heart lodged in my throat, and my nerves trickled down my throat like water. I was suffocating. Unable to say anything, I took my hand away from Oscar and let it fall limp at my side.

"It's obvious to everyone, Heart. The way he looks at you when you turn away in anger. How determined and distressed he was for you when you barely made it out of the Maze. Hell, he holds you every chance he gets; Newt loves you."

His words were a bomb impacting me maliciously. I wanted to feel ashamed of myself but just couldn't because Newt meant just the same to me as I did to him. Oscar picked his head up and grabbed my attention.

"I thought about how lucky you both are. You two are the strongest people here. Know why? Despite every inch of misery and death you two reap, you both still are able to put aside your own conflicts and despair to love someone else. And if that isn't strength, nothing else in my book is."

All I was able to do was stare at Oscar with the look of love for him and Newt. I was not alone.

_Deep breaths…This is the starting line._

_They want to see what we're made of…_

_Run for the hills before they burn._

An opportunity is only as good as the way you take it; this opportunity was literally designed for us, so we took it with great pleasure. Minho gave me a break that next day. The rest of the Runners were doing a last scan of their Sector before abandoning it completely. That day, instead of relaxing, was spent in the Fields with Zart, cracking puns and jokes that we could faintly remember. After two hours out there, I'd forgotten about all my worries—Newt, the Maze, my family, and the escape. Only the tomato plants and idiotic jokes that made me nauseous with laughter.

"Okay, okay," began Zart, "why shouldn't you write with a broken pencil?"

"Why?" I followed up.

"Because it's _pointless_." I rolled my eyes nonchalantly and stifled a giggle. My fingers stroked the earth beneath me. "It's not as bad here as people say, huh?" Zart paused, thinking then shrugged.

"I wasn't among the top of the first to get here, but Alby explained in great detail how dark it was. He was the first here…had to spend a whole month by himself in this huge glade, trying to understand everything. The only reason Newt is leader and not him is because Newt reacts well in the Maze. Alby is too irrational and overreactive."

He looked up at the sky, his eyes almost meeting up with the sun. Then, he dropped it and smiled at me like all of our choices from the beginning have been morally right—pride.

"But look where we are now! Minho and you are checking out the hole thing tomorrow, aren't you? After that, we're home free. Home…Jeez, I shouldn't have said that. Sorry." Honestly, I was not bothered by it all. The fact that we were so close to leaving gave me slight discomfort. Zart was right about everything. We were getting out of the Glade for good. Oddly enough, my feelings on that subject were mixed. I wanted revenge of course (who wouldn't?), but I was afraid of finding what was left of my family. The only person who knew I even had a brother and father was Newt and Oscar.

"Hey," Zart chatted, "you alright there, Heart?" My eyes were unfocused and directed into space. I hadn't noticed how dazed I appeared. Quickly, I shook myself off it. "Sorry."

The sunlight danced across the new saplings for the season. At first arrival to the Fields that morning, I had asked Zart why the Track-hoes were still planting for the month if we were leaving in two days. After pausing and rubbing his chin thoughtfully, he told me just in case things went wrong. In other words, Zart wasn't very positive we were going to make it out alive. Who could blame him though? All we were relying on was an idea and a hangul of meaningless words. Death was in our little package-deal of possibly escaping.

Oscar found his way to us not but two hours after lunch. He held a watch in the palm of his hand. "Wanna help me out?" he asked casually, protruding his wrist. Watches weren't handed out to anyone but Runners. Confused, I took the watch and fitted it around his wrist.

"Minho said there was no use saving anything else valuable—we just needed to use up whatever was left, so he gave the extra supply of watches to the guys—and no, none of the other girls wanted them. Minho isn't sexist, Heart." He'd rushed the last part, knowing I would interrupt him with my protests of Minho's behavior towards girls. Oscar smiled and looked down at me from his height.

"You're not that short you know." It sounded practiced and planned. I shrugged and kept my eyes focused on snuggly connecting the wristwatch. "Well, I try."

"Sarcasm?"

"No."

The smell of spices and herbs drifted from Frypan's kitchen to the rest of the Glade. Cott told me that evening the Cooks were preparing a feast tomorrow night. The _last_ feast, in fact. All kinds of smells from the past month and a half I'd been in the Glade filled me at once. So much beauty lied in every breath we took, and all of it would be gone in two days. We were leaving. WICKED better have started making a list of answers to all our questions. Surely, we'd have tons of them. Was I leaving something behind there in the Glade? A part of me, maybe? It was the only place I knew…I was terrified of anywhere else. The mixture of my curiosity, fear, dread, and greed was indescribable but with one word: deadly.

**I'll never let go, Jack. NEVER. LET. GO.**


	27. Why Couldn't We Make It

**Hey Gladers,**

**Lots of descriptive words this time around. Really, I wanted to punch myself in the face after writing this chapter. But it had to be done. Get ready for the Scorch!**

**Keep running.**

**~M&amp;M**

_Chapter 27~Why Couldn't We Make It_

The weight of a log or the earth (whichever you prefer) came toppling down on me in the early of the morning. I would've screamed, but I'd felt much worse. It woke me up for sure. A groan escaped my throat, and I peered up to see what was crushing my stomach. The smile of a stupid blond and his Britishness welcomed me cheerfully. He was sitting on me with glee to see me awake. I laughed a little laugh.

"You're so fat," I sighed in amusement. He gave me a look of fake hurt and pointed a finger over his heart.

"Right here, love. Right here."

"Get off me, shuck-face." Newt chuckled, climbed off me, and helped me up. His height mocked me severely, and I stood on my tiptoes in desperation. Again, he laughed at me and lightly shifted me back on my feet.

"Sorry." He pressed his lips on mine and put a cold hand on my neck. This caused me to gasp in the kiss and pull away. "You are so mean!" Newt just laughed and threw back his head.

"Why're you so happy?" I inquired jokingly. Newt held me by my waist.

"Today is our last full day here. We're home free tomorrow." It didn't hit me as a realization but more as a scary reminder. Last day. Tomorrow was our day. It felt so scary knowing it was over. Newt noticed my smile dropped and looked me in the eye.

"Hey, are you okay?" he murmured. My eyes, clouded with worry, found his and faked relief. We were going to be okay.

"Yeah. We should go ahead and get out there."

Cott was in a right state when I found her that same morning, but this was most likely because she was rushed out of her mind for the "feast" that night. The cooks were making a normal nice meal, then, as soon as they got clear from Newt, they were going to use up the rest of the food supply for a celebratory feast. She was scrambling around the kitchen, showering flour and mint leaves across the floor. I opened the door slightly, hoping she wouldn't die of stress right there.

"Cott?" I drawled, hoping it was enough for her to hear me. She stopped dead in her tracks and spun around on her heel.

"Hello, sweetie." Cott's skin was oddly radiant that day, and her eyes were a luminous blue that gave the Blue Fairy a run for her money. It was like Cott was…ready.

"Yeah, I wanted to let you know we're leaving pretty soon. Wish me good luck." Her smile softened to a tender smirk. "Of course I wish you good luck. Abe is coming over, and we're gonna leave a little _message_ on the Wall for the Creators."

"What kind of _message_?"

"I'll think of something." I smiled and turned to leave. She returned to her bustling, but I didn't leave. It was our last full day. And the last time I met Cott as Cook wasn't going to end like that. Quickly, I wrapped my arms around Cott's shoulders and gave a her a gentle squeeze. Then, I whispered something that I'm still trying to ascertain and decipher the meaning of to this very day.

"Thank you."

The dying grass tickled my ankles and swayed to the wind. My breath was slow. Who knew how many would die desperately trying to make it out. Ten? Fifteen? All of us?

Deep breaths. Deep breaths. This is the starting line.

"You ready?" Nearly jumping out of my skin, I gasped and looked to the voice. Newt looked back at me with Minho and Aris at his side.

"What is he doing here?" I snapped at Minho. He threw his hands in the air. "He wanted to see it, and his own death is on him. The kid wouldn't leave me alone."

My glare shifted to Aris, looking down at me. "You will die out there," I said blankly. The boy shrugged. "Not if I run."

At the moment, the doors began to creak open like the opening of a casket, and I didn't care anymore. Letting my disposition shift into survival mode, I signaled for us to begin the race of life or death.

It took maybe two hours for us to find Sector 7 again. The silence echoed off the walls, filling the corridors with morning eeriness. Aris was in a state of wonder, almost idolizing the Maze.

"I never would've imagined this…" He droned. I chuckled softly and groped around the stone walls. The entrance was up ahead.

"There. Right in that little nook." I pointed, and we trotted over. Minho got the first look in and murmured, "Bloody hell…"

"Hey," interrupted Newt, "that's my line."

Soon, the empty and dark hallway was filled with the sound of our shoes smacking the floor harshly. Nothing else filled me with more adrenalin. I ignored the constant whirring of the gears turning in other Sectors. Instead, I surrounded myself with, fortunately, the constant beating of my heart. Our footsteps were grave.

When our company reached the shaft hole, we couldn't say anything.

"Well," Minho told us, "she wasn't lying." My tired expression found his sarcastic one, and I rolled my eyes. "_No really_?" Aris didn't refrain from deferring his laughter of my comment. I wanted to laugh with him but held back with a small burn of embarrassment in my stomach. Minho approached the shaft and ran his hand along the lustrous metal and steel.

"So it's here. Wanna check the inside out?" Uncomfortable with the shift in mood, I protested, "Shouldn't we wait until tomorrow. Who knows what's in there." The boy stared at me like I was mad but shook it off.

"You sure? It'd be good to get a head start." Yeah, it would, but out of loathing for the Maze, I insisted against it.

"What're the words again, Heart?" Aris asked absentmindedly.

"Float, catch, bleed, death, stiff, and push."

"Maybe you just have to put in the code."

It was a likely hypothesis coming from him. "Yeah, maybe…"

The boys didn't stick around for much longer. Minho went back with Aris claiming he needed help finishing up the packing. Only Newt and I remained in the Maze. We both sat on the floor, our backs leaned against the walls. The boy's blond hair was pushed out of his face lazily. I stared with such a fixed gaze that I was ever so unmoving. I was prepared to make a joke about how Minho ran when I felt a hand hold mine delicately. For that moment, I could feel my air sliding back down my lungs. My body fell rigid—what was he thinking? Newt's thumbs rubbed over my wrists lovingly. So much so that I had to remind myself of his words and his kiss. Pulling my hand away, I bent around and placed my lips on top of his in a swift motion. Like a musical staccato. Newt tugged away and looked me in the eye strictly.

"I just want you to know…if you don't make it out…"

"But I will," I reassured. He brushed me off but not out of rejection.

"I know…just…if you don't…I _will_ drop everything and come for you. Screw the Maze. Screw WICKED. It's you or nothing."

My glare formed and shot prickles of disappointment Newt's way. What gave him the right to think I was worth saving?

"I don't need a knight in shining armor. You're not going to turn back because, one, I'm not going to be left behind, and, two, you _need_ to escape." He chuckled softly and pressed his lips to my forehead.

"Yeah, sure, sweet_heart_. I'm gonna go back to the Glade and hang out with Abe. Wanna join me?"

"No thanks. I'm gonna check the perimeters a last time—make sure we missed nothing; I'll meet up with you later."

"Okay."

He got to his feet and dusted off the excess gravel and dirt. Then, Newt gave me a wave of his hand, and he was off down the halls. So I waited. I waited for the Grievers, and the night to come encroaching up on my unmoving body. We were alone in an enigmatic world. Maybe our roles were much like those of the first people ever—so many questions, not enough answers, not enough seen. _I'm not done with my words. I haven't said enough._

This time it was much easier to get to my feet. I made a couple laps around the exit and looked hard at the Maze. Why were there no Grievers around?

Lost in curiosity, I abandoned Sector 7 and began to head back. The sound of my shoes hitting the floor was still apparent, but it shaped a more hostile mood than anything. The halls were empty and dim with the fading sunlight. What was there to about? Why was I worrying? There was maybe a mile left of running before I made it to the walls. I slowed down a tad and let my mind wander to Minho. That was when—

"_Heart_…"

I whipped around expecting to find Newt hurt or something.

There was only a feeble Cott and Abe with a carving knife to her throat.


	28. The Radiance of Cott

**I JUST WANT TO SKIP THIS CHAPTER AND NEVER THINK ABOUT IT EVER EVER AGAIN. This was one of the hardest things for me to write. I want to formally apologize beforehand. Fascinating how worked up you can get over a fictional character, huh? I did get my hands on the Scorch Trials graphic novel, and I got a couple things wrong for the main story, but it doesn't mess us up too much.**

**Keep running.**

**~M&amp;M**

_Chapter 28~ The Radiance of Cott_

_Janson._

We stand as one but everyone always knew we were the absolute opposite of united. WICKED that is. We just couldn't find it within ourselves to work together. Perhaps we all had different goals or perhaps we'd just run out of hope.

I stared at the screen intently as the scientists erupted in a hysterical mania. Once again, things were not going as planned. On the large glass screen in front of me was a surveillance of Subjects "Abe", "Cott", and "Amelia". Things were not shaping up well for Subject "Cott", for her death seemed imminent. The scientists were screaming things like "What do we do?!" or "She's the Flame!". I wanted to laugh at how frantic they were, trying to stop the scene and eliminate Abe immediately. That, though, was impossible. Nothing in the Maze happened coincidentally. Our plans for Cott were the following:

Survive the C Maze Trials and reach safety

Eliminate Subject "Amelia"

Trigger the B Maze Trials

Survive B Maze Trials and reach "safety"

Discover her title, "The Flame", referring to her igniting a new path to success.

It seemed now that not even the first goal was going to be accomplished. There was nothing we could do. The competent scientists who realized this long ago were no longer trying to search for an easy way out but were instead cheering on Subject "Amelia". _Cheering her on!_ Like she was the heroic protagonist in a fairytale. It almost made me laugh again, but I only watched with extreme anticipation.

_Heart_.

Her feet were rooted into the ground like the biggest tree in a storm—a wild storm in fact. For a couple of seconds in the dull silence, I wanted to believe it wasn't real…What I was seeing was a mirage. But all of it was real—Abe's look of pride, the knife, and the frozen blood in my veins. You know the worst part about it? Cott still looked as sunny and radiant as ever.

"Heart…"

"_Shut up!_"

I couldn't find words. Words? What were words?

"Move and I won't think twice," hissed Abe, letting his hair fall in his eyes. That moment still crosses my mind today, and I still wonder why it wasn't Gally. Out of all people, Abe. One thing was clear to me though. He was _not_ my brother.

"Abe…Don't do…why would you…"

"What else should I do, Amelia, huh? _Huh?!_ You're all prancing around ruining WICKED's plans because you're _special_. You got past them. I am already dead. I have nothing to live for anymore. She's gone."

Reth. He was talking about Reth.

"She wouldn't want this—"

"To hell with what she wants!" screamed Abe, pressing the knife against Cott's throat and creating a long line of red. My nerves spiked up like electricity. "Why are you doing this?!" I cried. Abe pulled his lips into a dry smile.

"You are Reth. Don't you get it, Heart? You and Reth are alike. And she hurt me so much—hurt me so much to the point that I wanted to hurt myself. Now, I want to hurt Reth back. Seems pretty convenient that she's here, huh?"

It would've seemed easy to mutter a sarcastic line and save Cott's life, but I was completely wordless. I couldn't stop a thing. I could not be the hero in this story.

Cott's mousy blue and large eyes were lined with angst. It made the pain of the moment unbearable. Cott and I held a steady gaze.

_We need to work on your people skills. Sociality isn't your forte I presume._

Why did I remember so vividly? Her sweaty hands laid limp at her sides. Abe pressed the knife closer to her throat, barely breaking more skin.

_I did good things before all this…I remember loving my life._

"Abe…"

"Shut up! Shut up, Reth!" He was insane. The boy was entirely mad. Why did I feel like it was all my fault though? I was Reth.

_She was very tall, very skinny, and very sunny._

"I'm sorry," I murmured, realizing the entirety of the situation. The smoke in Abe's pupils dissolved for a humane second, and he opened his mouth to croak, "I am too." He pulled away his knife and put it behind Cott. Then she was lurched forward into my arms, and my heart lifted to the high heavens. She was safe. We were safe. Abe dropped the knife and skidded away down the Maze halls. Depleted of energy, Cott collapsed but I held her against me in pure relief. We were gonna make it out together.

"Hey, it's okay," I cooed. Cott couldn't lift her head, yet she whispered, "No, it's not."

That when I felt the stickiness from my fingers. Her back hit the ground. I lifted my fingers up to see a wet scarlet painted onto my skin. My heart might as well have stopped beating.

Blood leaked from her back onto the Maze floors. The realization was strong, imminent, and chilling. Abe hadn't let me off with a threat at all.

"Cott!" The name came out hoarsely and damp with tears in my throat. I fell down next to her in angst. We were filled with not hatred but weakness.

"D***, this hurts," she grunted. I let out a little sob at her dulling down the situation. I couldn't say it. How can you admit to yourself that your best friend is…_dying_? I wasn't strong enough for that. I may've seemed like I could take much more, but it was Cott, the oldest girl in the Glade who was wondering why in the hell I was lying in the middle of the grass.

"I bet it-it d-does."

She smiled a bit and looked at the sky above. "I hope you're not gonna pull a 'look at the sky' or 'the birds' or anything. I kinda always wanted my death to be like something from _Titanic_." I choked a laugh, hoping it would dial down my nerves, but it only made me more horrified.

"Don't say that. You're not gonna die." But according to my shaking body and my fear-stricken tears, that statement was no less than untrue. Suddenly, the screeching howl of a Griever echoed off every wall. Both our eyes filled with terror.

"Leave me here," Cott gasped. I protested and desperately pulled on her clothes.

"No. You-You never got to…C'mon, Cott. P-Please, P-please…We have to go!" The girl did not move but instead groped for my hand, and once she held it, she would not let go.

"Take my stupid jacket. I know it sounds d-dumb…I want to be a legend." Still refusing to accept the moment, I cried harder and squeezed her hand tightly. She sat up, ripping pain into her every muscle, and tugged off the jacket. Her body fell back down.

"Hey, Heart," Cott groaned, losing her voice quickly, "S-So many people worry about s-saying the right thing. I-I just think we've already s-said everything we could. Thanks for that. You're not just a stubborn b-bad***. You're my best friend."

I covered my mouth with my free hand to hold back my loose sob. The howls were growing louder. Cott, fading from her own existence, turned her head to the direction of the bloody knife. Her breaths were no longer short and frequent. In fact, Cott took one last long breath of serenity. Her eyes drooped shut.

"I forgave Gally months ago."


	29. The Message of Her

**The best time to wear a striped sweater…is all the time…One with a collar—turtleneck! That's the kind…**

**Keep running.**

**~M&amp;M**

_Chapter 29~ The Message of Her_

I do not remember my first words. I do not remember my pets. I do not remember my first birthday party. While I won't remember these things, I will _never_ forgot Cott's last words. If only I had some kind of body to take back, but after staying there with Cott's corpse, the squealing of the Maze changing drifted from every inch of the halls to the next. I slipped on her jacket and swallowed tears. I ran so furiously and powerfully. It was war.

Minho and Newt were at the opening of the Maze, looking on at my pitiful show. The creaky doors remained open behind me. How anticlimactic. It was useless to wipe away the tears. Their eyes were uncomprehending and innocent against me.

"What happened?" Newt asked, not daring to come any closer to me. I didn't want him…or anyone. I let my head fall in my hands and whimpered, "He killed her. S-She's dead."

Though they did not know whom I was talking about, the boys still let alarm take control of their emotions. "Who died?" Could I say it? That would mean finally admitting it. That would mean letting her go. I breathed.

"Cott."

It was Oscar who I felt the worse about telling. He was excited and was scrambling to finally go home. It came out as a soft whimper, a broken whimper. And slowly his smile dropped until only terror and the beginning of tears remained in his eyes. We were all around him, ready to console him. But Oscar was motionless.

"I'm so sorry." You would've thought he was also dead based off of his rigid breath. He finally wrapped his hand in my hair and yanked with so much ferocity.

"You _tried_ to save her?! You _tried_?! Look where it got you! You shouldn't be wearing her jacket! No! You said we'd make it out…She was going to make it out! You didn't save her!" At this point, Oscar was relentlessly pulling at my hair and others were trying tear him off me without avail. Seeing how he was not going to come to his senses. I yanked myself downwards, gritting the pain, and swept his feet out from under him. Oscar hit the ground and released me. The silence was anything but congenial. He crawled back on his feet and took a look around.

"Mate, if you just calm down…things are gonna…turn out fine for us. You'll be fine," consoled Alby. Oscar's anger split him in half.

"You think I'm still fine?!" he screamed, "None of us are even the slightest bit sane anymore. I am already dead."

I couldn't breath for the longest time. Something changed Oscar the months before I was in the Glade. There was a reason he was going mad about Cott. Something changed him.

"She's out there…" Oscar whimpered, his voice scratchy from the screaming. His eyes left mine for a split second and landed on the Maze doors. If only I'd acted faster.

In a matter of seconds, the whole population of Gladers was chasing Oscar who was running to the Maze doors. It was a horrific idea, yes. But it was my only idea. I glanced behind me at Newt and screamed, "We need to go!"

"Go where?!"

"Home!"

I guess the rest of Glade had the same idea because I was most certainly not the only one running in the Maze halls after Oscar. He relentlessly raced on, and once we were inside the Maze, Minho tackled down Oscar. Our fates were officially sealed. We stood there, breathless, hopeless. We were only two sectors away. Minho held onto Oscar like he was a Creator with our answers. Newt, who caught his breath quicker from Runner experience, looked around at us. Say something. Please, say something.

"Whenever a fellow Glader dies, we usually bury him or her and have a Remembrance. But we don't have to today because Cott is not dead. She is here with us in these halls, anxious to get the hell out. As long as we see her jacket, Cott is never gone." Oscar, exhausting from holding on for so long, let his head fall and gave a sorrowful moan. The eyes of the blond boy flickered over mine like a stray light.

"I'm not going to leave this Maze without a fight, am I right?!" A scream of sudden spirit rose from the throats of us all. Cott was not dead. She was forever running.

It took several years for the Runners to devise maps of the Maze. It took half an hour for Minho, Newt, the previous Runners, and I to devise our plan of escape. Looking at us, you would see catastrophe waiting to happen. Weaponless. Mostly untrained. Unprepared. Only with a couple of watches and a handful of hope. We taught the basics of the Maze to the rest of the group. We told each other to be ready for anything. We all had jobs to do in the Glade, but everyone had another identity in the Maze. Time to put on a show.

Thirty four feet away from me, scuttling around, was a Griever. Six hundred and fifty-one feet away from me was the exit of the Maze. The rest of the group hid back behind a wall waiting for me to do my job. What felt like a smile was on my face. Without an ounce of worry, I walked out near the Griever and plucked a stone up off the ground. Then I whistled. In a flurry of movement, it swung around the stinger, and I had to duck quickly.

"You're pretty ugly, aren't you?" I laughed. It scanned around, searching for me. Next, I tossed the pebble around the Maze halls and watched it bounce around until it landed in a crock in the floor. The Griever curled into a ball and rolled to the sudden noise like a ball in a pinball machine.

I rushed at least five Gladers away to a safer zone away from the Griever and I. The scuffing of feet attracted the monster, so, thinking quickly, I snatched up two other stone and flung one at the Griever's skull. It hissed angrily, but I couldn't help but laugh.

"Sorry 'bout that." Suddenly, the Griever lunged at me and swept my feet out from under me. With a rattling smack, my body collapsed on the floor and my head took most of the damage; I was fairly sure I had a concussion.

_Get up, Heart! Get everyone across_. Taking my own advice, my hands bore my aching, dizzying pain and hauled my body up. The Griever scattered around, screaming to the sky in frustration. Dampened with worry that I might not succeed, I sucked in a low breath and latched my hands around one of the Griever claws. Using every bit of strength in my body which left me screaming, I yanked at the bladed claw. My bones were on fire; my throat was sore and torn to shreds. But in seconds, I had the limp blade of a Griever in my hands. The hideous monster howled in agony and swung its stingers everywhere. Not thinking twice, I smacked them all away and screamed, "GOGOGO!"

Several scuffling feet made noise behind me but the Griever barely took notice. It seemed like hours that I fought it off. My energy was out the door, but I fought. The chances of my survival were depressingly low, but I fought. Aris was screaming that everyone was safe, but I fought.

Why? Who cares? It was not courage that was driving me on—it was my message. Soon, I heard myself and what I was screaming. I was yelling at the Creators, saying what Reth wanted to say, what Abe wanted to say, what I wanted to say, and what Cott wanted to say.

"Heart! We have to go!" My legs froze stiff. Go.

Turning around in quick desperation, I followed Minho and the Gladers to Sector 7 with the half-dead Griever at our heels. If you did see us, you would not see a life-or-death situation. You would see the picture of survival, of "just making it".

And none of us stopped. We were all having the Runner experience no matter our Glade occupation. Minho and Alby led the group, shouting directions and strategies. Aris, Zart, and I were at the back of the group, fending off the Griever.

"Let's hurry this up!" Zart yelled as we turned a sharp corner. It took us little time to reach the opening of Sector 7. Suddenly, as I turned around to see how close the Griever was to us, two Gladers were yanked into the air and into the Griever's body. My throat prepared a scream, but I didn't have enough oxygen or energy to spare to let it out. It was up ahead. The opening to the Cliff was ahead and the realization came to me that there was no where to go but over—to jump.

_Don't slow down. Please jump ahead_, I pleaded in my thoughts. In the front of the group, Newt made a fast look to me and I nodded furiously, trying to send the message through.

"Jump!" Newt screamed, hesitating then making a death-defying leap down. Our limited group did the same, forgetting about their lives in the Glade for an instant, because what happened then didn't matter anymore. We were no longer Gladers. That title was stripped of us after we passed through the doors.

We were all jumping off the side; the sun flickered in my eyes, and I knew it was Cott telling me that I needed to man up. I never really did have good social skills.

The Griever was slowing, my body was being flung off the side of the Cliff. And we were so not okay anymore. At least I wasn't. I was losing hope that we were going to make it home.

_The sound. The black. The cramped walls. They were the only things I could identify_.

And the ground shook as I hit the floor below.


	30. We are the Heroes

**Hey Gladers,**

**It seems my account decided to screw up during the last few days if August and showed no views on any of my stories, so that sucks. In better news, I am nearly done writing the story. Even the ending has a lot of plot twists. So, yay! Enjoy this chapter.**

**Keep running.**

**~M&amp;M**

_Chapter 30~ We are the Heroes_

"Heart! The code?!" Minho yelled, pulling my attention to my surroundings. Surrounding us were hundreds of Grievers. The shock didn't last long because the code words were being passed through my lips. Minho already made it to the computer and was pressing in the words in haste. The hulking Grievers were balled up, ready to kill every one of us. The walls, covered in goo and hot ooze, cramped us all as an easy target for the Grievers. Locking onto the nearest Griever, I stabbed the thing multiple times. Out of the corner of my eye, I could see Newt ripping out a limb like I had earlier. A Griever snatched Bart out of the crowd; her screams were droned out by the harsh squall of the Griever metal. My throat tightened, and my stomach lurched. This was the world.

I was ready to stab the beast in front of me with the claw when everything paused. The air became stiff along with everything in the room. Grievers halted; we stopped fighting. All eyes were on the frozen Grievers which were in fighting stances. Slowly, we backed away and gripped our makeshift weapons. No other movement.

A screech so deadly and hideous that we had to cover our ears erupted from every corner of the room. The Grievers came tumbling down in piles of scrap metal and heaps of wires and goo. The smell was unbearable, and I was forced to hold my breath to prevent throwing up.

The things were deactivating. _Does that mean we win?_ I thought. A group of girls screamed out as a last Griever towered over them and smashed to the floor right in front of them. The girls were lucky they stumbled away in time. The screams shut off completely when the last Griever was demolished. Then we only looked at each other, breathing heavily. Newt made his way to me, blood trickling down the side of his head and into hair. The boy pulled me into him, hugging me into a death grip.

"Everyone can see us," I whispered.

"I don't care." And he held on, his hands in my hair, and adrenaline making his heart pump through his chest at the speed of light.

"We need to get out of here," said Minho, "the exit is wide open." I nodded, and Newt kissed my forehead and let go.

I looked around at the remaining Gladers and took a nervous breath. We were in horrible condition. Some of us were gone. Most of us were bloody, bruised, and some stung. I stepped forward, trying to find something to say that might live up to give some hope.

"We're not done. Through that exit are the Creators, and who knows what they have in store for us. I'm not good at public-speaking. That's Newt's job. But we got this far. We beat the Maze, killed Grievers, and, yet, we can still walk. So, I don't suggest we run to the Creators. We've already done quite enough of that."

We did walk to the Creators. It was a long, dark hallway ahead of us. Oscar, Gally, Minho, Newt, and I were in the front. My hand was intertwined with Newt's. And the bracelet lied limp around my wrist.

The lights flickered on and off occasionally, sending nerves up my spine. The only sound was of our shoes hitting the floor and the hum of the weak electric unit. It seemed to take forever for us to reach the end of the straight hallway. A steel door lied in front of us. Minho went up to it and tugged on the handle.

"It's unlocked but it's heavy. Frypan…Newt…come help me."

Letting go of my hand, Newt moved to the front of the door along with Frypan and harshly yanked open the door.

It was a large room filled to the top with equipment. Large screens showed images of the Glade but from a far distance. There were huge cabinets filled with open files. It looked like a scientist's laboratory. The lights gleamed sharply in our eyes, and it took so long for us all to realize there were people in that room. The temperature around us seemed to drop twenty degrees. Cautiously, we crowded inside the room, looking at everything. That had been there the whole time we were stuck in the Maze.

"Wow. This…This is quite a surprise." My eyes moved to the center of the room where a tall man stood with several other people. I groped for Newt's hand and found it already reaching for mine. We held onto each other in slight fear and preparation for another fight. The man had short, graying hair and a rectangular frame. His eyes were a silvery hazel that washed cold fear over me like a tsunami.

"I mean, _none_ of us expected you to complete the Maze Trials that quickly—only eleven months in. Wow. I guess it wouldn't be hard with a little _help_ on your side."

My glare narrowed towards him and a tiny flame lit up in my stomach. Was he talking about me? The man cleared his throat and stepped forward.

"Oh, I'm sorry. You must be confused, scared, and possibly angry. But I assure you, this is not what it looks like. You have no reason to be distressed. My name is A.D. Janson, but you can call me Dr. Janson. I am part of an organization that has been working long to save the world. It sounds juvenile, but there is something you do not know. The world is ending—or has ended—all depending on where you stand with hope. I'm with WICKED—World In Catastrophe Kill-zone Experiment Department. The name mostly speaks for itself. You all are the key to survival. Ah, let me slow down. You all must be very confused. A good while ago, sun flares nearly destroyed the earth as we know it. It's dangerous to go outside and you wouldn't be able to recognize some major cities now. Imagine extreme chaos. But that wasn't even the half of it. A deadly disease spread like wildfire across the nation. It turns the brain and makes cannibalism an every-day priority. It'll affect a person very quickly and implant severe cases of insanity in them. It was predicted to have wiped out sixty-percent of the world's population. Now, I have no doubt that those standards haven't been met. We call it the Flare. Fortunately and quite oddly, there was a small fraction of the population that was not affected by the Flare. We call them the Immunes, and, right now, they aren't liked very much. Most of you all are immune."

Janson paused and looked at all of us, stopping at some then moving on to the next. And his eyes landed on Oscar.

"We want to find a cure. We gathered a large group of teenagers who showed promising signs and tested their minds, tested their amazing abilities. We want to save the human race from oncoming deterioration. You are different, and you can save everyone."

We were so silent and the mixed emotions were thickening by the second. No one looked at Janson anymore but at the floor and at the other scientists. I was staring at the screens of data and statistics. Oscar followed my gaze and watched too as our faces flickered across the screen.

Subject "Oscar"—The Bridge

Subject "Alby"—The Host

Subject "Cott—The Flame (Deceased)

Subject "Aris"—The Partner

Subject "Zart"—The Teacher

Subject "Bart"—The Aid (Deceased)

Subject "Newt"—The Glue

Subject "Amelia"—The Soldier

I watched as my picture flashed across the screen. _Amelia. The Soldier._

And I remembered Minho, Gally, _and_ Cott calling me the Soldier. And I remembered how I knew all the fighting techniques but didn't remember learning them. And I remembered Cott telling me that she knew me before the Glade. And I remembered describing Reth as my title. And I remembered thinking Abe was the real fighter—the real soldier. Maybe that was what I was. Not a mindless weapon used only when needed, but a girl, with the power of a thousand launched missiles behind her eyes, creeping out of the corners with her ambition by her side. That was a soldier.

"What were your results?" I looked around, searching for who asked that but saw it was me. Janson's gaze was directed at me like he was aiming a weapon and ready to strike.

"Subject 'Amelia'—"

"Don't call me that," I snapped, strict and dry. My hand pulsed by Newt squeezing it. Janson hesitated and continued.

"_Heart_, it truly is a pleasure to see you again. How about you…come a bit closer." The crowd of Gladers split up but only Newt remained. He gave a last squeeze and moved back. Feeling my stomach burn in fear, I approached him and noticed how very tall he was. Janson smiled down at me.

"The results showed a success in the fields we need to test the cure. All we need to do is monitor brain activity and compare them against the control group information. Afterwards, we will have all we need to begin creating and studying a cure to the Flare." A backed up a step and watched his eyes, how they refused to move.

He was lying.

I moved back into the crowd and shadowed my eyes away from Janson.

"I am here to congratulate all of you and answer any and all questions you have. I know there is a lot of explaining to do." He chocked some sort of laugh and my flame of hatred grew bigger. Oscar who had been looking at the floor the whole time raised his head in pure disgust of the man in front of us.

"Cott is _dead_. Reth is _dead_. Abe is _dead_. And so is Bart and Calico and a shuckload of us. You killed them."

Janson stood up straighter, holding his pride on his lips and replied, "Their deaths were a necessity to the cure. We'll be saving billions of people if the cure is perfected."

"No!" fumed Oscar, "We might be saving the whole freakin' world but _they_ are dead. They can _not_ be cured. Do you not realize how many lives you have ruined in this process?! All of ours and theirs too. You are not the hero here. You are murderers."

The room was in cold quiet as Janson looked for words that would make up for WICKED's actions. Then he sighed and closed his eyes, attempting to meet our level of pain.

"I understand how you're feeling—furious, grieving. But you should know what happened before the Maze Trials. Each of you were handpicked to participate, and each child was donated by the parents to the cause at a very young age. You grew up here, and you were warned of the severities beforehand. You agreed to this, and each death will be commemorated respectfully. All of us here are deeply sorry for your loss and suffering and pain we put you through. You will see soon enough that we are the heroes, and we would only do this for an extremely rare situation such as this."

"Why," asked Aris, "can't we remember any of it?" Janson nodded and picked up a tiny digital chip.

"This is the Swipe. Right before sending you all into the Maze Trials, we implanted this into your brain. It temporarily clouds your memory of past events such as childhood. Luckily, since our results are successful, we can remove the Swipe in a few days. For right now, we will be sending you to one of WICKED's headquarters where you'll stay until we can finish up brain activity monitoring. Then, we'll have the Swipe removed, and you can decide your next actions."

It took us so long to soak everything in. We were just told that there was a world outside of the Maze—a pretty screwed up world too. I was not angry but filled to the brim with questions. I felt lost and like I had arrived on a new planet. Part of me wanted to believe WICKED, but another part only saw Cott's dead corpse. The last part wanted to kill Janson and every other scientist in the room. But there was no choice but to trust them. We were the weak ones for once. We had no leverage and knew nothing about the outside world. But it was _so_ much. The sudden explanation made me scared. It was like waking up from a nightmare and realizing you were only dreaming about the next day.

"How are we getting there?"


	31. What's Mine is Yours

**Hey Gladers,**

**Scorch Trials is coming out tomorrow. I'm seeing it Sunday. I didn't realize the date had arrived that quickly. In some places, it comes out today, so have fun seeing it! I think we've all been gearing up for this movie, but now that it's finally here, we realize we only have one more movie after the Scorch Trials. Let's be honest, they probably won't make a film adaptation of The Kill Order or Fever Code. Then, we realize that one scene is gonna be in the Death Cure movie. THAT ONE SCENE.**

**Anyway, on a different note, I should've updated by now, but Geometry Honors sucks. Here is chapter 31 for you lovelies.**

**Keep running.**

**~M&amp;M**

_Chapter 31~ What's Mine is Yours_

The drive was long, and the heat was mind-numbing. If you were from the outside you would see an ancient yellow school bus traveling down a dirt road—which, I might add, was as bumpy as a tank driving through the battlefield. Newt and I were sitting in a seat near the front. My arms were wrapped around my waist loosely, and I was staring out at the wreckage beyond. Buildings crumbled to the ground…trash littered everywhere over the barren wasteland. And the sun, gleaming like a huge ball of misery overhead. Now, I understood why Cott never cared for the sun. A soft voice woke me from my intense gaze.

"You scared the klunk out of me, you know." I looked over at him and saw Newt looking at me sweetly. A bit of sadness washed over me. I barely said anything to Newt since us going in the Maze in the first place.

"I'm really sorry, Newt. Things haven't been exactly…well, they haven't made any sense for a while. I haven't been spending much time with you since the rain." He laughed and pulled a smile. "I don't mind really. I know everything's changing. The best thing for us to do right now is to figure out WICKED and make sure they aren't bloody screwing us over." I nodded, letting my head drop in the process.

"Hey," I remarked, still looking down at my hands, "thanks for going along with all this. I know it's crazy."

Newt smiled again and placed a cool hand on my cheek, lifting me up to face him. "I would walk through hell with you by my side. That's how crazy _I_ am." I chuckled and placed my hand over his on my cheek.

"Things aren't gonna be okay for a while, huh?" He titled his head to the side then shook it. "No, they're not. I'm gonna have nightmares about you getting stung by Grievers. You're gonna have nightmares about Cott dying. We're not gonna be okay for a while. But, you're gonna have to remember that _nothing_ will hurt you with this bracelet on. I…I'm gonna be fine." My arms wrapped around his neck in a hug. My heart was stitched with nerves and love for that British boy.

"I love you so much, Newt. You're the reason I can do this." He hugged me back.

"Love you too, Heart."

The rest of the ride consisted of Minho and Ben whispering dirty jokes in Newt's ear, Newt swatting them away, and me reminding them how immature they are. It was so weird because not once did I think about Cott's jacket around my shoulders or the fact that I was a part of the Humanity's Last Hope Club. During that bus ride, we were not subjects or Runners or Gladers, in fact. We were teenagers. I think almost everyone forgot that. While thinking about this, I looked down and noticed something peculiar; I was wearing the same white blouse, navy skirt, and navy leather suspenders that I wore coming into the Glade. I chuckled softly to myself about and looked out of the window again.

"Seriously, mates, you're annoying everyone here," laughed Newt.

"Nope, just you," Ben replied. They laughed and quieted down for a second.

"What about you, Heart?" came a voice that sounded an awful lot like a cocky Minho. I whipped around to see him better.

"Come again?"

"Have you and Newt hooked up?" I felt my face burn like the Glade bonfires, and I was obviously blushing hard. Quickly, I covered my face with my hands and Newt cleared his throat.

"Let me answer that question for her. Yes, and she is mine." They laughed, Newt pulled away my hands, and kissed my cheek quickly.

"Don't hide it," he whispered so only I could hear, "it's cute when you blush."

Ugh, that terrible British boy.

"Yep," bragged Newt, pride in his eyes, "touch her, and I'll kick your bugger arse twice." They laughed again, and I continued looking out the window. The glint of stained metal caught my eye, and the bus fell silent. Ahead of us was a large building the size of a popular church or a hospital. Outside of the building stood a man with his hair pulled out in patches and bloody scabs all over his body. The man's clothes were torn, ragged, and soaked in dirty blood. His eyes, bloodshot and black, pierced through the window straight into us. He held up two fingers pressing into the side of his head to make a gun-suicide motion. We watched in horror as the man pulled his lips into a nasty grin, exposing blackened and rotten teeth. Then, he bent over and collapsed laughing hysterically at himself.

Unable to watch anymore, I stared at the seat in front of me without breathing. My breath was lodged in my chest, causing my heart rate to increase by the second. We were out of sight of the man and back into the wasteland. None of us even breathed.

The world was _not_ the same.

We were _not_ just normal teenagers.

That was the world.

Minho raised his head to look at one of the WICKED officials riding up front. "What was that place?"

The official looked at us all, grim and deadly serious. "That is a place where they put the people affected by the Flare. It's called the Crank Palace. And that man was a Crank."

None of us needed to ask what a Crank was because it was too obvious. That was what the world was crawling with—what the face of humanity now looked like. It was not death or disease. It was much worse than that—it was sheer insanity.

Stepping out of the bus was one of the worst parts. The heat was intense, dust swept over my face instantaneously, and there was no relief or comfort in arriving. The headquarters looked like a much pleasanter version of the Crank Palace. It was white, very tall, and with little to no windows. And so far away. I peered out across the deserted land and coughed once more. Gladers were being filed out of the bus evenly, each coughing a fit while exiting. And once everyone was out, we ran to the building. Who knew we'd once be running to WICKED for help and protection instead of the other way around? I guess our outlook on the situation was much more inflicted with our desire for revenge. We were blind.

It seemed harder to run to the headquarters than running the Maze…and that's saying something. Maybe none of us really wanted to be running to open-armed WICKED, ready to take us under their wing. And when we got there, we were miserable. The heat was deadly, we were sweaty, and none of could stop panting like dogs. The officials opened the doors, slid us inside, and we were officially theirs. In front of us were halls of bare white and grey. We were led down said halls. Our every step echoed off the walls. You could taste our distrust in the air. There was nothing WICKED could say or do that could ever possibly make up for what they did, yes. And they didn't seem to have it as a priority to gain our trust again—which made me wonder why we ever gave it to them to begin with. _What made me want in on all of this?_

Our group reached a large center room in which stood a quaint woman with age prominent on her cheekbones. Her hair was a fading blonde that was cut sharply at her shoulders. Along with the rest of the headquarters, she was dressed in a white pantsuit and black heels. The woman stood above us, almost like a reigning dictator—a Hitler.

"Welcome, all, to just one of WICKED's luxury headquarters. My name is Ava Paige, director of WICKED. I run all of this but certainly not by myself. I trust you've been acquainted with Dr. Janson."

No one spoke. Ava Paige clapped her hands together.

"Now then, we've arranged separate rooms for each of you. They should be suited to your acquired needs. We'll have some workers show you to these rooms and have you situated. Supper will be at seven o'clock P.M, and I shall explain the rest then."

Ava, as graceful as wind on water, slithered back into the shadows of another room and left us silent among each other. It was the shortest speech we'd ever been given. And, though it cleared up quite a bit, left Ava as a more mysterious person. She owed us every detail about everything. Yes, I still believed I was a different person than who I was before the Maze Trials, but now was not the time for loyalty. It was time to find out who Amelia was.

My room was shaded off from the rest. Newt was four doors away to the left and Minho was farther down and across from mine. Oscar's room was next door to mine as well. Inside, the room was absolutely capacious and barely contained any furniture. There was a large bed, a small bathroom, a bedside table with a simple candle sitting on top of it, a box of matches for the candle, a closet, a rug, a small chair, and a trunk. Everything, of course, was snow white except for the trunk which was of white birch wood. The walls were lit with decorative iron bulbs that glowed like a flickering fire. I took small steps forward. Never once did I remember getting that much simple luxury. The silence was dreadful, but my curiosity burned so harshly. And the first thing I did in my new room was untie and remove my boots and walk on the soft rug.

Oh, it was glorious. I could've bitten off my finger in the Glade to get that much mundane pleasure. The fabric tickling my skin and between my toes. Instinctively, I smiled.

I couldn't have been the only person to do that. Next, I looked in the bathroom and found a shower, a toilet, a small sink, and a cabinet stocked with necessities. I moved to the closet, opened it, and saw two simple things that took away my breath. The first, hanging on a clothes hanger was a long white scientist's coat. It was from WICKED. They wanted me in their possession, and the coat was some kind of peace offering? Disgusted, I refused to touch it. But, folded on the bottom, next to it, was a dark navy blue blanket with a simple sewing pattern. I pulled it out and unfolded it to see the homemade design of the night sky with white stars, a silver moon, and constellations. Instantly, I felt my mouth go dry and my heart swell. On the top right corner was the stitching of the words, "To my Emmy, from Mom". My eyes began to dampen with tears, and I had to blink them away quickly.

I had a mother who loved me and called me Emmy. I was her Emmy. I was somebody's Emmy.


	32. Four Entries

**Hi gladers,**

**Sorry I didn't update sooner. But my views stacked up this week! I'm not entirely sure if it's the most out of one week, but it's still an awful lot. Thank you for everything and more! This chapter goes deep into Newt's passed of which I pulled from insight of James Dasner and my own predictions. Nevertheless, I love the way I developed Newt's past character. I also gave him a name that I thought sounded Newt-ish. Enjoy!**

_Chapter 32~ Four Entries_

Ava didn't have much to say later that evening. She, once again, apologized and explained how it worked around the headquarters. Ava never mentioned when we were having the Swipe removed, but she did announce we were going to be talked to separately in two days. This, she said, was going to be about us describing our experience. And then left us all at a blank. To describe life in the Glade…To describe what we endured…It would be as difficult as describing sound to a deaf person—and just as confusing. I consumed little to nothing that night, sickened by the fact that I was once in cohorts with WICKED. Zart was. Newt was. Cott was. While it seems vastly improbable to allow the pain to be inflicted on yourself, one could find it nothing but mad to sign up for it yourself. With only a small bowl of macaroni and cheese in my hands and the letter, I walked closer and closer to Newt's door. Who could tell his reaction to all of…WICKED?

I took a breath, put the letter between my teeth, and opened the door. The lights were on and a boy sat on the bed, eyes peered down to his hands. Newt sat unmoving and unfazed by my entrance. He was in new clothes, hair wet and ruffled from taking a shower. On his back was a plain white tee-shirt and shorts. The shirt, as you'd guess, was labeled with "property of WICKED".

I took two steps in and observed the room. Much was identical to my room except that the trunk was made of maple wood and there was a small window, showing the night sky and, for the first time, truly clear stars.

"They labeled me already…I haven't even been here for a day, and they've already labeled me theirs." It took me a second to notice Newt was looking straight at me, his face sunken with an emotion I hadn't seen before on him—discouragement.

I took my move closer to him, was tempted to sit down, but thought otherwise. I replied, "I brought you some mac &amp; cheese. I remember you telling me it was your favorite. They wouldn't let me take some at first, so I snuck in and stole it."

He didn't look at the food but sighed and fell back against the bed. Sadly, I placed the bowl down on top of the trunk's lid and sat next to him.

"This doesn't…_feel_ right, Heart—being here—it's more like a prison than a home," he stated, as if he'd planned every word in the sentence. I just looked at the light illuminating the room. Newt was quiet too and picked up something on the other side of him.

"I found this lying the bottom of my trunk." When I turned, I saw what he was holding was a photograph of several people. These included a woman with curly black hair and brown eyes, a man looking identical to Newt other than his nose, a small girl with long, braided platinum hair, and Newt. My breath was stuck in my throat when I realized who the people were. But I asked anyway.

"Who are they?" He covered his mouth, turning his shaky breath into a cough.

"My family…that's my family." Newt's family. The mother, the father, his little sister. Newt couldn't have been older than fourteen in the picture, but his cheeky grin was unforgettable. _He had a family._

In a sudden moment, I felt envy for Newt. He had a family or at least he has answers about his family. I was only left with more questions than to begin with. Newt sat back up and looked at the photo as if his family was inside waiting for him.

"I found this," he began, breaking the silence, "underneath the leg of the bed. Somehow, I knew it'd be there." Newt reached to the bedside table and picked up a miniature, leather-bound journal. "It has only four entries in it but better than nothing, I suppose." Curiosity grabbed back my attention from envy. Newt opened the book, looked at the first page, and recited his own words.

_To whom may have the displeasure of interacting with WICKED and anyone affiliated with them,_

_Unless you have not noticed, the world is ending…quickly. I got here by a bus filled with fourteen other kids around fourteen or fifteen years old. We weren't allowed to talk to each other or make any noise whatsoever. When I got here, WICKED took us to their lab and one-by-one, injected trackers in our necks. It's right under the ear with a little blue dot._

_Then, the "all-hail" Ava Paige recited her obviously rehearsed speech, and we were given our positions and told our jobs._

_I'm suppose to agree to this? Why should I? For the reason I stated at the beginning. The world is ending. We can save it. Everyone has to give a little sacrifice in their lives, right? See, I don't want to be looked at as the guy who chose to defy WICKED. WICKED is powerful, crafty, and, of all things, surviving. Only a fool wouldn't come to this conclusion: WICKED is God._

_Henry Vivan_

_To whom may have the extreme displeasure of being held absolute hostage by WICKED because "we can save the world",_

_Today they took us in a room and replayed videos of our families being slaughtered. They told us that was what happened when you held attachment to a person and defied WICKED. They showed them shooting my mum, dad, and Milly in the head. It was Milly's death that made me clench my fists. She was nine-years old and barely knew about the world. Yet they shot her, and her body went limp. They also showed several more. One contained only a mother, tied to a chair and sobbing softly. There was no father. A girl buried in the crowd let out a cry and held on to her older brother. He was trying his best not to cry either. They were some of the lucky ones who were able to keep their siblings alive. She was Amelia, I think. I don't know her brother though._

_Henry Vivan._

_To whom may have the confusion of receiving a new name,_

_WICKED told me I was no longer Henry Vivan but Newt. Newt stands for Isaac Newton, a physicist of the Old Age. They gave Stephen the name Thomas based off of Thomas Edison. Catherine was named Cott because of Louisa May Alcott. Some names were kept but were based off of other people—like Oscar who kept his name but had it based off of Oscar Wilde. Oh, and Alby who kept his name but was named after Albert Einstein. Why do we have to change names? Why are we based off of people suddenly? In time, I know I will forget who I am…who I was. I will become a person who sees only good in WICKED and only hope in the future. I will not only be lied to, cheated, and manipulated, but I will be blind._

_Henry Vivan "Newt"_

_To whom may have the naive outlook that wounds will always heal,_

_If there was ever such a time to escape, it is now. It's 2 a.m. and the noise coming from the lab could wake up half of the world. Someone has broken in. WICKED guards are pounding on our doors trying to evacuate us to different headquarters. And I cannot bring this book. Why do I look at the situation like I am a Jew in the Holocaust? I see the Nazis breaking in to steal us away to death camps. We will never be free. We will only be the prisoners, and they will be the gods. And I have an odd feeling that I will be running for a while. I will run away from WICKED and, sometimes, to them. I have to go, or they'll see this. Just…if I'm going to be fighting for my life for a while, then I'd like to give myself a little piece of remaining advice: Never stop running._

_Newt_


	33. Henry and Emmy

**Hey gladers,**

**This is a nice chapter because it completely opens up Gally and his relationship with Cott. A lot of questions are answered too. Oscar's entire past is explained in detail and this gives him a whole new side. I'm nearly finished with the story. I just want to get it right! Enjoy!**

**Keep running.**

**~M&amp;M**

_Chapter 33~ Henry and Emmy_

WICKED is God. Henry Vivan. No father. My mind was empty along with my words. I stared ahead and focused all my energy on breathing. _Never_ stop running. Jew in the Holocaust. Oscar Wilde. Catherine. He stood, book in hand, and flung it across the room in frustration and fury. Newt's fists were clenched tightly.

"I had a family?! I had a real life!" His breaths were heavy and blocking out my thoughts. Newt sat back on the bed and let his shoulders fall. "I can't do this." Moments of dead silence passed. Slowly, I crept off the bed and picked up the book. The words were scribbled in black ink, dark enough to bleed through the pages.

I will be blind. Milly. We can save the world.

I moved back to the bed where I picked up the letter. I found it in the bottom of the trunk, addressed to me. My breath was hollow, my voice was shaky, and I read aloud.

_To Emmy,_

_There's a blanket for you in the closet if you get cold. It's from Mom. She's not here anymore though. I suppose if you're able to read this then you are alive and finished the Maze Trials. But it only matters how alive you are really._

_Dad thought it'd be good to write a letter before getting the Swipe. Just because I won't be able to remember doesn't mean you shouldn't try to. We are not who we used to be. You have changed; I am long gone._

_I wish I was a good writer. See, I'm trying to make this as meaningful as I can. Alright, here's some advice: This is not over. What WICKED has planned for you stretches far beyond your comprehension. You've only lived the Maze Trials. You haven't even tasted the Scorch. So good luck. Don't die. And, whatever you do, don't trust WICKED._

_Amelia_

"Where's the blanket?" asked Newt, regaining his humanity.

"In my room. I found it in my closet." He stood and held out his hand. "Give them to me." Without a bit of hesitation, I placed the letter and the journal in his hand. Newt moved in front of the window, tore it open, and threw out our only connections to our past selves.

Instantly, I stood up. "What are you doing?!" He was much calmer than me and shut the window again.

"We can't risk WICKED or anyone else seeing it. We don't exactly look like heroes in those letters."

I retorted, "Neither do they! That was our only hope of remembering ourselves." Newt approached me.

"Don't you get it?! There are no heroes. And we are not who we used to be. Those people are dead. Removing the Swipe will not bring them back."

I almost forgot. For a moment, I forgot that I was not Amelia. Newt wasn't Henry Vivan, and Cott wasn't Catherine. By now, I was looking into Newt's eyes, my thoughts dead. He was looking back at me with an expression of faded frustration.

My legs were curled up to my knees when I woke up the next morning. I was in my own bed in my own room. Yet, I felt like I was the intruder. Cold solitude washed over me while I regained consciousness. After Newt yelled the night before, I left without a word to him. And he didn't even call out. I have said it a million and more ways—the world is so screwed up. The more faulty it becomes, the more we're teared down with it.

At the moment, my only friend that still had a beating heart was Oscar. He sat in absolute silence eating breakfast that morning. I sat with him at a table with only us. He deserved to know. It didn't matter how he reacted. They were his memories. If I knew something about them, shouldn't I tell him? Okay. _Tell_ _him, Heart. Keep it subtle._

I lifted my head. "Ever read any Oscar Wilde?"

"What?"

"Never mind." He looked back down and picked at his food.

"Heart, I'm sorry about running into the Maze. That was a stupid idea. I was afraid and worried about Cott. I didn't want to believe she was really…dead. Going out there…I endangered everyone. I could've been killed. I am the reason Bart's dead. Abe's dead." A flicker of hatred warmed my stomach.

I replied, "People were going to die anyway—even if we went when planned. Now, I can't blame you because I would've reacted exactly the same." That didn't comfort Oscar at all. If anything, it made him feel more guilty. But never once did the idea that Oscar caused us harm cross my mind. He shook his head sadly.

"You're wrong. I might look like I have my sh** together, but, in all honesty, I'm a mess. Heart, you…you barely know me—the real me. Cott was the only reason I had hold of my sanity in the Glade. I used to have insane panic attacks and end up hurting people. It's a wonder Newt didn't banish me. I'd hurt myself too…just for kicks. Cott came along and, well, she treated me like she treated you. She picked up my pieces and gave me something to smile about. I think that was what made Cott a special person. She had the amazing ability to make something horrible not so horrible. And it only took her words."

I smiled to myself. "Does that explain why you said she was the reason you stopped? You said you stopped something."

Oscar shrugged and swallowed a bit of his food.

"Like I said, I used to cut up my ankles and beat myself down. After a couple of days after meeting Cott, I didn't feel the need to hurt myself anymore." The surprise got me thinking back to small moments with Oscar. I'd never seen him with a look of deep depression. He certainly never seemed crazed. So I tried to imagine him clinically insane but his friendly nature just clouded every essence of insanity there could've been.

Oscar now had a look of regret and relief, and he said to me, "I'm sorry I didn't tell you much earlier. You deserved to know. Though, now that I think about it, you're luckier than others. You only saw the "good" me. That's the guy I'm rooting for. I don't want to lose the "bad" me. I just want to tuck him away for a little while and, hopefully, forget he is there."

This made me smile and regain my utter love for Oscar. I placed my hand over his.

"I'm rooting for that guy too. Thanks, Oscar."

The day was spent with WICKED officials dealing with our "less difficult to answer" questions. They also spent a good majority of time explaining every detail of how the Flare came about and the efforts of mankind to stop it. Of course, I looked at every word coming out of their mouths as total bulls***. WICKED was not as they advertised themselves. When I got my memories back, everything would come into perspective. The officials were ranting on about which cities survived with minimal damage when I noticed out the corner of my eye a figure get out of a seat and leave through the hall. I looked and found it was a person whom I was avoiding for so long. I slipped out of my seat and followed him out into the hallway. He didn't seem angry but more confident and possibly cocky. As soon as we were far out of earshot, I stopped.

"Gally," I blurted. He froze and faced me.

"You followed me." I walked up to him a bit, my fear of him long gone. I looked at him in the eye, trying to match my height with his.

"I don't like you." He didn't bother to guffaw but kept his scowl.

"You've made that pretty clear—"

"But Cott did," I continued, "and there's something you need to know." This altered Gally's expression so much that he looked like an entirely different person. Every bit of anger and hatred was gone. He seemed like a normal, compassionate person for a while.

"The last words on Cott's lips were about you. When Cott stood up for you and saved you from banishment, I thought she was the craziest person in the Glade. I went to the wall and found her buried in the weeds crying. She told me the whole story—how she loved you and how you kissed her and how she kissed you back. I don't think you ever really understood the ferocity of this problem. _You broke her heart._ It was nothing to you, was it? She told me you made her a Cook instead of a Builder because you thought she would steal your place as the Keeper. You mocked her every day. You made her life hell, Gally. And yet, the last thing she said to me was, 'I forgave Gally months ago'." He stood his ground, and held his pride in the palm of his hand.

"You don't know anything, Heart. You surmise because you think you have all the answers before everyone else. You're not as clever as you think. Did you ever think that there was a reason as to why I abandoned her—other than me being a jerk?"

Gally stepped forward, trying to intimidate me. I merely laughed in my thoughts.

"I _loved_ Cott more than anything in the world. When I went to sleep that night I kissed her, I saw images of sand dunes and starved corpses. Skin rotting off of people. The gore was intense and if I was awake, I would've hurled. But there was a voice that echoed around inside me. And it told me I didn't deserve love…I didn't deserve Cott. I saw her kissing other Gladers and having sex with some. She'd look at me and whisper horrible things. When I woke, I was so angry. All I could think of when I looked at her was the Cott in my dream, and all I could hear were the horrible words. I let my fear and my anger consume me. This new Gally pushed her away and made her a Cook not because she intimidated him but because he was afraid of being hurt. When you said she died…the fog was lifted, and I saw how much of an a** I'd been to everyone. I could never take it back. I could never say goodbye."

There was never a time when I felt more ignorant. I never even stopped to wonder if it wasn't Gally's fault. My heart was heavy and my throat was strained with hatred for myself. I couldn't breathe or even think. Gally, for so many months, lived in constant fear of a vision. He couldn't apologize. He couldn't even say he loved her to her face.

"Gally…" I murmured with heavy sorrow, "I'm so sorry."

I hesitated, making a quick decision, then hoped to god that it wouldn't backfire.

I pulled Gally down to my height and hugged him around the neck. He stayed rigid and still, seriously confused about what was going on. I was too, but I hugged him away. Eventually, Gally pried me off of him.

"What was that?" I felt my face go hot.

"Shut up. It happened, okay? Look, when all the Gladers leave to go to their rooms after WICKED's lecture, tell Newt to tell everyone to meet at the dining hall at 12 p.m. sharp, okay? Oh, and to bring their candles."

"What?" Gally questioned, still in aftershock of the hug.

"Just do it," I snapped and slipped away down the hall into my room. For such a douchebag, it was difficult to really hate him.


	34. Candles

**Hey gladers,**

**This is another chapter I've been trying to avoid for a while. It a long one, but you'll appreviate it. Have a wonderous week.**

**Keep running.**

**~M&amp;M**

**ps. Theme song?**

**Try: "Death with Dignity" by Sufjan Stevens**

_Chapter 34~ Candles_

The night fell quickly, and my master plan was being put into play. The lights in the hallways were out, and the silence was settling in. Cott never got her funeral. So I was going to make one for her. I was changed into a simple grey shirt and WICKED's supplied skinny jeans. A soft knock came from the door, and I creaked it open.

"Newt?"

He opened the door and came in, closing the door. His blond hair was ruffled, obvious he'd just taken a shower. Newt was in a green long-sleeved shirt and his Glade jeans. And he smelled strongly of beeswax and cinnamon.

"We need to talk," he began with a tone of seriousness. I, taken by surprise, was backing up. I hadn't spoken to Newt since our "conversation". I wasn't exactly _mad_ at him but more confused with his motives. Throwing the letter and the journal out the window was not a very sensible idea to say the least. And the way he spoke…he sounded so worried and slightly crazy. But when I was backing up, I noticed that I had a little sliver of fear inside me.

"About what?" I asked, forcing myself to stop moving away.

"I don't want to fight with you, Heart. I don't want to yell and throw things. That's not me. I'm sorry." Oddly enough, this made me smile and kiss his cheek.

"You can be stupid, Runner boy. But I can't really define competent anymore, so I'm not mad at you. Help me set up the tables." Newt scratched the back of his neck, hiding his blush.

"Yeah, another thing. What's this about a meeting in the dining hall?" he inquired. I snatched up my candle and the matches in the meantime and led us both out into the hallway. We were walking to the dining hall when I whispered, "We had a Deadheads. Most people had the privilege to be honored—to have a funeral. Others—like Cott and Bart—didn't get the opportunity. And though WICKED might consider this unfathomably ridiculous, I want to honor everyone…just for tonight."

I peered over at Newt, curious to see his reaction. He was looking at me in an admirable way, eyes glazed with pride.

"Cott would love that. I think it's bloody brilliant." We went through the entryway, careful not to make any movement that would grab WICKED's attention.

For the next twenty minutes, Newt and I moved the tables into place, having to lift them instead of drag them to prevent screeching noises. When we were finished, the tables were aligned in a large circle with chairs seating everyone. Around this time, the shuffling of feet carried throughout the halls and Gladers followed in.

"Newt, go grab your candle." He left, in the meantime showing Gladers where to go. I took out a single match and scratched it against the box. The flame lit up a tiny space in front of me. It reminded me of the bonfires we would have. But now we were there; so much had changed in such a small amount of time. We were just kids.

I ignited the candle and held it in my hands. Everyone, with their candles in hand, filled up the seats and kept silent. This was key to pulling it all off. If we made too much noise, WICKED would kick us out of the dining hall without a second thought. Some of us were obviously tired and slightly annoyed by the interruption. My original plan had ended there, because, honestly, I didn't think it would go on that smoothly. Five minutes later, everyone was seated and only I stood with a single lit candle in my hands. The darkness made seeing difficult, but I knew they were listening whether they liked it or not.

"I didn't wake everyone up in the middle of the night to waste your time. I didn't wake you up to preach to you either. I woke you up so I can light a couple candles." Next, I took another match and lit it from my own candle's flame. Then, I went down a row, lighting every candle.

"You guys had a graveyard, and you had a memorial for everyone who died, right? What about the people who died trying to save our lives?" I didn't speak again until our candles were all lit. The room was no longer made of pitch but of the soft glow between our fingers—our little suns. Calming down, I tucked a lock of hair behind my ear and proceeded.

"This is different. All of it is. We have new surroundings, we're being told that we had lives before the Maze, and we're being given access back into them. I don't know where you all stand on WICKED, but I'm sure that we don't forgive them for the death they caused."

No one spoke.

"Someday," I sighed, "we're not going to remember this. Either we'll be dead or too close to death to care. I can assure you that things are not going to get better for us."

_Stop, Heart. Stop._

"But that doesn't matter now." I looked from my candle to the faces of everyone. And I let myself smile. "Reth, Cott, Bart, everyone. They laid down their lives for us, and we were so caught up with surviving that we could only mutter a couple of half-a**ed words."

_Heart, stop doing this._

"I didn't know Reth, but without her help, we would still be in the Glade, trying to decode the Maze. Abe told me one day that she was the first female Runner and was one of the best. And for the longest time, everyone thought she committed suicide. Minho…you knew Reth much better than I do." Our eyes moved to Minho who looked around and eventually stood. Minho was dressed in a blue shirt with a brown jacket and jeans. I couldn't get over the idea of how a simple wardrobe could alter someone's perception of someone.

"I'm not really good at this kind of stuff, but I guess I'll try. Reth was one of our first girls; she didn't take any shuckin' crap from anyone, and she _hated_ losing. I was worried her competitive spirit would get the best of her. But after seeing her move, I was forced to overlook everything. Who knew? A girl could've figured out the Maze better than a dude. And after making her a Runner, Reth became one of my closest friends. I realized that she wasn't some Glader, she was a lovely girl with a brilliant mind. Everyone in the Glade loved her, and she might've even stolen the hearts of some people. After I found out she'd died, I felt nothing at first. I spent twenty minutes assuring myself she was only unconscious. Only when it did sink in did I feel the full impact of her death. Reth was…our best Runner ever."

And he sat, with a stiff body and a silent breath. Again I rose.

"Anyone else want to say anything?"

The room was quiet as before. "I guess this is going to be hard for everyone."

"I remember," I continued, "Abe and Minho comparing Reth to a wolf…the way she looked, the way she acted, her physical movements. And that got me thinking about what WICKED really had planned for her. She was our way out, and I don't think WICKED would take too kindly to an extra hint for us. Maybe Reth was stronger than WICKED from the beginning. Maybe, instead of being like that wolf, she was it."

Everyone gradually shifted their gazes down to the candles; if thought was audible, you couldn't shut anyone up.

Phase two of my ultimate plan.

"Who knew Reth personally—no matter if you were her friend?" Nine people raised their hands, including Minho and Alby. At my word, they blew out their candles and sat in sad silence. We were letting someone go that night.

For the next half hour, we shared stories about other Gladers who'd died. The majority of the Gladers who stood to speak ended up crying or couldn't finish talking because of oncoming tears. And every time we finished speaking, the people who knew that person closely blew out their candle's flame.

By the sixth remembrance, only seven candles remained lit—Gally, Oscar, Frypan, Chuck, Newt, Vince, and mine.

There was only one person left.

I think we were all too scared to speak because that would mean blowing out the candle eventually. And suddenly, that seemed like something we would _never_ do. Everyone was looking at me as if they expected me to suddenly get over it…to suddenly let go. But I didn't need to panic. Newt stood, gathering the attention away from me; I looked at the blonde, silently thanking him. He had his hands wrapped around the candle and his eyes scanning around, unable to find a certain spot to rest.

"For most of us, this can be the most difficult part—talking about someone special to you like they were still alive. I know this is the hardest part for me. Because, though it may have not seemed like it, Cott was a very important part of my life. And in all our lives really. She was our sun when it was too dark to see. I have so much to thank her for. She, not only helped us on several occasions, but she was one of the best things that ever happened to the godd*** Glade. And Cott didn't deserve to die like she did." Newt looked around once more and murmured, "Oscar?" Oscar was pulled out of his grievous trance and peered at Newt. Then, he stood, and Newt sat to let him speak. Oscar looked as bad as me. He was pale and had red-rimmed eyes. He looked lifeless as well, so it was a surprise that he could speak the way he did. Oscar waited several seconds; I was beginning to think he was going to stay mute.

"I used to cut myself when I got to the Glade…I hated who I was, and I hated how I acted around other people. I'd starve myself for days as a way for my own punishment. And I was on the verge of giving up entirely when Cott slapped me in the face and told me I was important in this world and that somebody loved me. Though it sounds a bit harsh, Cott said it with a hell of a lot of love. She became my best friend. I didn't need anybody else but her. I stopped beating myself down and instead focused everything into helping others. When Cott left, well, you saw what happened. I turned back into what I used to be. Now that I don't have her, it's time for me to take her advice. I guess you have to get bit lost before finding yourself."

I wanted to smile or cry or both. How Oscar looked was unbelievable. He seemed, over the course of the speech, to regain color in himself and confidence in his words. He was the closest thing left of Cott that I had. And Oscar was just as extremely special. Oscar sat quietly, and I gave an unnoticeable smile. That was when something none of us would have guessed happened. Gally stood.

His eyes were glossy with tears and his face pink with distress. He seemed tensed with anger and, at the same time, weak with sadness. Gally was giving up on himself.

"I'm an a**. I know that very well. I bet none of you think I could have feelings at all. But that's where you're wrong. Cott was special to me, because I loved her. It's a really long story between our relationship, but that doesn't shuckin' matter anymore. Cott was not always a beacon of hope for everyone to improve themselves upon. She was a person too. I think, I forgot that a lot. Out of temporary spite for her, I made her a Cook when she was the best Builder we'd ever seen. She was cheated out of her life, yet she was strong enough to get up everyday and make other lives better. Cott deserved better than all of this.

But I didn't know her best. One girl knew her like a sister, and they saved each other's lives on occasion—her best friend."

"Heart," lamented Gally. I looked up and realized I didn't know what to say. I'd been thinking it over all night, but when it truly came down to it, I was at a loss for words. _Stand up._

I did that and Gally sat back down. People were looking at me, and the panic was rushing in in waves. _It's_ _okay to be scared. Fear is a human instinct._

"You all talk about Cott like she's a hero or a savior of lives, but she wasn't that at all." I placed my fingers around the bracelet quickly; out of the corner of my eye, I noticed Newt smiling. Did he always notice that?

I continued, "I was lying in the middle of a grassy field, angry at everyone—especially Newt—when Cott came up to me and made me realize how stupid I was acting. I didn't know it, but the more I got to know her, the more attached we became. She made me better. I can never thank her enough for that…Cott made me happy, and I would do anything for her back. I love her, she loved us, but she'll always say it better than me."

And with that, we raised our lips to the flames and blew.


	35. Roll Up Your Sleeves

**Hey gladers,**

**I don't think I could stress enough how good this chapter is. It was out of the blue and teetered away from my original plan, but I love it still. Have a great week!**

**Keep running.**

**~M&amp;M**

_Chapter 35~ Roll Up Your Sleeves_

The third night in WICKED's clutches went well if being ultimately killed by the poisonous sun was the worst-case scenario. The whole population of Gladers was quiet during breakfast, hovering over the thoughts from the night before. Newt, Oscar, Minho, Vince, and I sat at a table, eating. Newt kept his hand curled over mine underneath the table. The lights overhead were fairly dim and sometimes flickered. No one flinched though. WICKED officials stood at all exits, and it made me smirk. They knew about our secret funeral. Tomorrow was the day we would get our memories. It seemed stupid to believe anyone was _excited_ about it. A better word would've been _agitated_ or maybe _unprepared_. But certainly not _excited_.

"Heart."

Fingers snapped in front of my face, and I looked up in a panicked motion. Minho was staring at me.

"Good god, you just can't keep your mind in your own klunkin' head, can you? Well, what do you say?"

"Say about what?" Minho huffed a groan, rolling his eyes in the process and repeated, "We're making a run for it tonight, you coming?" I didn't know what they were talking about. _Making a run for it?_

"What?"

"We're leaving this place to find answers somewhere more trustworthy." Panic fueled my words instantaneously.

"No. You can't leave. We're getting our memories back tomorrow." Minho looked at me darkly and seemed to be mocking me in a way. "For all we know, WICKED could be executing us tomorrow. We have nothing here we can trust." Newt looked at me, and for a moment, I saw him _agreeing_ to it. I wasn't furious—more like disgusted and shocked that they even considered that idea.

"Are you serious right now? You are powerless, Minho. Everyone here is. You have no leverage whatsoever, and you have nowhere to go. If the majority of the world's population is like that Crank we saw on the bus ride, Earth is crawling with your new enemies. I suggest, if you don't feel like dying a horrific death, you stay here and suck it up until tomorrow. We have two options right now, buddy boy. Trust whatever WICKED has in store for us or die. You choose."

Then, I stood and shoved my food away from me in disgust. The boys were looking at me, but my eyes were attached to Minho.

"Enough people are gone already."

_Janson_

Ava was a woman who required the utmost respect. She tolerated nothing but focus and excellence coming from us. And she was the mind and heart of our organization. But Ava was not always that. I used to be great—a role model—before the world went to hell in a hay-basket. My children were looked up to as well and had ordinary and lucky lives. But Ava was nothing. She worked the front office of city hall while I was mayor. So, Ava noticed the opportunity, when humanity plummeted to dark days, and got her clammy hands all over it. Ava demeaned me down to her level and forced her ideas on me. The woman used my family against me and knocked me down to her inferior. And I let it happen.

Alone in the surveillance room, I ran back the video feed of last night's events. I memorized every spoken word, every teenage face. And I let the hot tears dribble down my cheeks to my nose. She was so beautiful. He was so tall. I smiled a sad smile and shut off the tapes. Since that was the only light source in the room at the moment, I sat in darkness, trying not to think.

"Dr. Janson? Aren't you supposed to be in the EEL with the other officials? Ava is giving a speech," came a deep voice. I didn't bother turning around. "What are you watching in here?" The room lights flickered on.

"Are those last night's—"

My hands went to my belt, and the gun was pointed at the man's forehead. His hands were up above his hand in frantic terror.

"Dr. Janson, how did you get that in here?"

"Listen to me, Dr. Shore, before I kill you. You will not breathe a word of this to anyone or I will make sure you suffer as a Crank until a bullet fills your brain. Got it? Everyone misses family. Everyone misses their kids, right? See? No big deal. But if you tried telling Ava, I would have to open these headquarter doors and let you rot outside of them, begging for mercy. Okay. Have a good day, Dr. Shore. Turn around and walk to the radiation room now." Face frozen with shock and horror, Shore paced himself and walked out of the door, his trembling arms at his side. Oh, how I wanted to pull the trigger. The gun hovered in my hands for a couple seconds later, and eventually, fell back to their original location. It was then that I realized I was dying. Though, I should've noticed that fact a long time ago. The Flare was gnawing at my skull; the headaches were becoming more frequent and more painful. By estimation, I only had six months until the disease overruled me completely. My wife was one of the rare adult immunes, passed her genes down to my daughter and son, and rendered me hopeless.

No longer did I blame them. I could have very easily killed my offspring with my own genes too. I left the surveillance room.

_Heart_

The quilt given to me by my mother smelled like brown sugar and leaves. My whole body was engulfed underneath it. It wasn't the softest quilt, but it also wasn't itchy and uncomfortable. I'd spent the last hour memorizing every stitch of the blanket. My love for the thing was dreadfully strong. Outside of my room came a respectable knock. With the blanket wrapped firmly around my body, I shuffled to the door and pulled it open. There was a pungent smell of tobacco just ahead.

"Dr. Janson?"

The man with an aged face and graying hair stood tall, proud, and with as much composure as he could muster. He gave me what looked like a demonic version of a smile. "Heart, I apologize for disturbing you at this hour. I just needed to see if you are planning to have your memories returned to you tomorrow." I nodded yes. Dr. Janson replied, "Very well. Also, I'm going to need you to come with me." The way Janson said that made a long shiver run down my spinal cord. There was a moment of hesitation between us before I unfurled the blanket and tossed it on my bed.

I shut the door behind me when exiting and followed the strange man as he strutted down hundreds of hallways.

"What's this about?" I inquired.

"Testing, young lady."

"Wasn't that suppose to include everyone else?"

"No. Just you." Something was very wrong. We finally reached a wide room where a table sat in the middle. The inside resembled a doctor's or dentist's office. Janson snatched my wrist and tugged me inside. Four other people were there as well. They were unidentifiable because surgical masks covered the majority of their faces. When I entered, they began mumbling and whispering amongst themselves. I was unwillingly hauled up onto the table where Janson glared at me. His expression was one of disgust, and it only made his wrinkles more prominent.

"The Maze Trials weren't supposed to end this way, Amelia."

"My name is—"

"You seriously still believe your name is Heart? Sorry to disappoint you, but you were never _Heart_. You were supposed to die, Amelia, at the hand of that Griever. Obviously, something made you different. We never detected this in your blood or your brain. You are invisible to anything we throw at you. And you must know why. Tell us, Amelia. Why can't we kill you?" A long needle was jammed down the back of my neck and into my veins. A stinging, warm substance filled my nerves, causing me to lose breath nearly immediately. Answering was the last thing on my mind. Killing Janson was possibly the first. My legs kicked and I threw punches, but my attempt to fight was futile.

"Don't battle with it. You are not as strong as you believe, Greenie Girl." From there, my body fell back on the table and my vision pulsed grey and white. Each pulse matched my heartbeat and sent waves of exhaustion rippling across my system.

_I'm not a greenie._

_I'm not a greenie anymore._

The first thing I saw was the digital alarm clock I found buried underneath my bed. It lied on my bedside table, reading 3:16. What happened? I had the same feeling as when I woke from the Box. I remembered nothing before that. In fact, I remembered nothing from the last ninety hours. My stomach was a bundle of aching emptiness. I was starving for anything. My throat was so dry that I felt like I hadn't had water for three days. Forcing myself, I stood and collapsed almost instantaneously.

_So tired._

The pain and the hollowness was unbearable. So, I tried again to stand and regained some balance. Let's just say it was 3:39 when I successfully made it to the door. I scrambled out into the hallway where it was as silent as space. _What happened?_

The hall had only one light which was humming and producing infrequently. The hallway corners were dark for this reason. Find a door. Find. A. Door.

I took six steps and collapsed onto a random door, causing enough noise to wake someone. But there was no response. I lied on the chilling floor in the dimness with no one there.

"Help…" I whispered, finding my voice was to the point of excruciating hoarseness. It hadn't been used.

Suddenly, the door opened, and my arms fell all the way to the floor.

"Oh my god! Minho!" called a female voice. The person stepped over me and banged on another door. It opened and so did the doors of more people. The silent air was filled with gasps and murmurs of others.

_What happened?_

My shoulders were roughly shaken and my body flipped over. Out of exhaustion, my eyelids refused to stay open. Fall asleep.

"Heart? Heart, are you okay? Say something. Heart?"

_Say something, stupid girl._

My lungs were depleted of oxygen, and my mouth was dry. I was afraid to speak so that the hoarseness returned. _I'm trying to save my own life here. Say anything! Call Minho a shuckface for all I care._

But words were not a luxury I was capable of affording. Minho lifted my shoulders and the rest of my body up until I was being carried by him.

"Jesus, you're cold," he grumbled. "Hey, someone go wake up Newt and Oscar." Next thing I felt was Minho taking me into a room and putting me on a bed. If not for my hunger, I would've fallen asleep no problem. "Heart?" The one part of my body I had absolute control of was my neck. I lifted my head and opened my eyes. The room was dim, lit with only spring candles. Somehow, with the rest of my body relaxed, I could focus all my energy on peering around. The room was not much different from mine. There were slight changes, yes, but everyone's room had that. There was a soft blanket tossed over my legs, and I was not alone. I'd looked over the room twice before taking note that Oscar, Minho, and Newt were there by the door. My arms were tucked in at my sides. My hair fell in lazy curls across my shoulders, barely tickling my chest. Looking down, I saw my skin. It was grey, the veins were prominent, and I felt dry as if no blood ran through me—which was very likely. "Love?" And the only thing I could feel was the glow of the spring candles. Oscar's hair was violently tousled, pepper colors making him seem like a spice more than a person. Minho looked better. Nothing had changed about him except for the fact that he'd had a bandage covering his right wrist. In fact, they all had one. Newt was the worst of them all. His skin was unusually pale, and his hair was uncombed and messy.

Newt's normally adventurous green eyes were bloodshot and glazed over with exhaustion. Underneath were dark circles, adding to his pitiful image. "Heart, can you hear me?" I pressed my hand against my throat to signal the hoarseness. Newt came a little closer, afraid I would fade away if he even breathed towards me. But I pulled away the blankets resulting in Minho and Oscar freaking out.

"You couldn't even stand earlier. Stay off your feet for a while," Minho told me. They gave me silent, odd stares. _What happened?_ In disregard for my own suffering, I spoke in a voice a bit louder than a whisper.

"Minho, where did everyone go?" The boy gave me a look of dark surprise. "Where did we go?" repeated he, "You've been missing for nearly four days."


	36. Four Days Time

**Hey Gladers,**

**Halloween is in two days. Hope you have amazing costumes this year! I'm doing a group costume. Though we originallly decided planned on Marvel superheroes, it seems we'll be doing DC. I was voted Wonderwoman. Though, I would've rathered Marvel's Peggy Carter. Whatever your costume may be—or even if dressing up isn't your thing—enjoy your Halloween!**

**Keep running.**

**~M&amp;M**

**P.s. Need a chapter theme song?**

**Try: "Fail For You" by Luke Sital-Singh**

_Chapter 36~ Four Days Time_

Over the past months, I'd learned to consume news like it was a grape cough syrup—thick, undeserving, and just plain repulsive. But this was not grape cough syrup. This was a bitter, liquified version of truth. And it tasted like sh*t.

They said nothing, and I was alone in my own bubble of confusion and silence.

"But last time I saw you was when you guys were planning to escape," I replied, trying to offer any help I could. Newt sat down on my bed, slowly excepting that I wasn't made of glass.

"That was a while ago." There was a clenched feeling in my throat, resembling a rope knot being tightened. _Who did this?_

"What happened?" I asked, sounding so cliché that I could barely stand it. But their expressions did not change. Minho folded his arms and began reciting the explanation as id he'd practiced it.

"After you stormed off that day, Oscar came to check in on you around 8:00 at night, and you weren't there. He assumed you went to Newt's room or somewhere and left. But Newt came the next morning. You weren't there either. The only sign of you being there at all was a quilt on the bed. We started asking the other Gladers but they hadn't seen you either. WICKED was our last thought. They refused to claim if they knew where you were or not. Newt started screaming at one of the guards and punched him in the jaw. A fight broke out, and we lost pretty poorly. Two days passed, and we thought you'd left the headquarters without us. Long story short, it might be a slim chance we get our memories back." My glare immediately formed on Newt. I didn't even hesitate.

"You started a fight?" I accused.

"We thought you were dead!" He protested back. On the outside, I wanted to yell at him for p***ing off WICKED and screwing our chances for a new start. On the contrary inside, I wanted to pull him in and thank him for worrying about me. My next idea was to put two in one. I punched him hard in the shoulder knocking him back a bit. Then, I immediately yanked him back into my arms and nuzzled myself in his neck.

"You're the shuckiest shuck-face. You know?" He groaned and tried to hug me softly.

"That hurt."

Apparently, the Gladers had gotten on WICKED's bad side pretty quickly, the day after my disappearance was the day we were supposed to get back our memories. Minho said only two people had their memories returned after me vanishing was announced. After the process, those two people locked themselves in his or her room, never came out, and never made a sound. People were scared.

"Minho, WICKED…they cannot be trusted. We need to leave," I claimed. The slinthead gave me a do-I-look-that-stupid-to-you look and drawled.

"Really? What changed your mind?"

"Who did they test?"

"That day we were supposed to get our memories?"

"Yeah."

"Ava Paige said, after reviewing their information and after a better examination of all their collected data, that they had no use for the testing. Why do you ask?"

"Did you see Janson at all during my leave?"

"Janson? No. But he doesn't come around normally anyways." I rubbed my face, trying to wash away the haziness and actually figure something out. Little matched up. It didn't make sense why I would be out for so long. Whatever it was, it had something to do with WICKED especially Janson. I had pure hatred for them in my heart. They were going to give us back our memories even if I had to hold a knife to Ava's throat. We worked too hard to get back what we deserved in the first place.

"Hey, Heart?" Newt commented to get my attention. I focused all my thoughts on him. "Don't worry about anything tonight. We're just relieved to have you back. I know I am." Minho, Oscar, and Newt gazed at me in silence. The past week had been almost tougher than Maze. My mind had been twisted, manipulated, and emotionally overturned.

"Can I talk to Newt alone? Here?" The boy turned around and said to the other guys, "It'll be quick. Thanks, mates." After they'd left, we looked at each other. "Tomorrow. We need to leave tomorrow. I'll have a last word with Ava or Janson. That night, we're gone. I'd rather die in a wasteland than survive in here." Newt's sympathetic expression stomped all over my confident one.

"Do you know what you're asking for?"

"Freedom."

"Incorrect. Try again." Frustration creased my skin.

"Independence?"

"Wrong answer. Death. Heart, none of us really knows what's out there. We don't have enough leverage to work with. This isn't the Maze anymore." I narrowed my glare to him, projecting all of my unjustified reasoning.

"Funny—I remember you pitching a different case four days ago." Newt sighed and ran his hands through his hair lazily.

"You were right. I was too focused on getting out that I didn't realize what it would cost us. Wait till we get back our memories. Then, we'll know more…about WICKED, the Flare…about everything. Promise me that at least." I _wanted_ to give Newt the silent treatment. I _wanted_ to go home. But I promised him anyways, because I _was_ the one who punched him in the jaw.

"Do you want to go on back to your room? We can talk more tomorrow." He helped me onto my feet and caught me when I lost balance. "Sorry." Newt only smiled and helped me remember to walk. "Do you want to stay with me tonight, love?" Yes. God yes. It was what I'd wanted since our first kiss.

"Okay."

Newt let Minho and Oscar know he was going to let me stay with him for the night and that he explained everything to me. By 4 a.m, I was curled in his bed, a pile of blankets cloaking me away from the rest of the world. Newt walked in and chuckled when he saw me.

"So should I start calling you Amelia or Emmy now?" he joked.

"You know what the answer to that is," I groaned back. Newt tossed off his shirt and jumped on the bed. Instinct kicked, I flung myself into a sitting position, and felt my face grow warm. Newt's chest was nothing short than what I expected. He was slender, lightly tanned from volunteering in the Fields on his days off, and muscular from running so much. "You're blushing, Heart."

"No, really? I didn't notice."

"Is it because I'm shirtless?"

"Why else, Sherlock?" He laughed and sat up too. I tried to wipe away the blush like it was makeup on my face; why did he have to be shirtless? "I sleep like this, you know."

"You didn't sleep like that the night you told me you loved me." Newt smirked.

"I was saving your innocence from one of the wonders of the world." I spent the next minute with blankets buried in my face and laughing harder than I ever had. I never thought I could be that happy, relieved…and nervous. The next thing Newt did scared me most. He pushed me down on the bed and climbed on top of me.

"Newt, wait." His smiling face twisted with worry, and he climbed off.

"What's wrong?" he asked.

"I've never…I haven't had…" Newt's smile returned. "You think I was trying to get you to sleep with me? Heart, I would never do that without your permission. Anyways, we're only sixteen. And I'd rather wait until a time when I'm not worried about dying anytime soon." I smiled too and kissed his cheek in gratitude. "Thanks."

"But," he remarked, laying me back on the bed, "I do get you to myself tonight to do everything else." He kissed me sweetly, burring his hands in my hair. I smiled into the kiss, pulling him closer into me. Newt was everything I wanted. Henry Vivan was what I wanted—all of him too. After a while, I paused and, instead of kissing Newt, I gazed at him.

"What?" He asked, worry creeping up again.

"Nothing…It's just…I love you so much. All of you." He grinned with pride, and ran his fingers through my curls.

"I love you more than you'll ever know, Heart. I really do." And that night, I fell asleep in his arms.

That morning was the first morning I'd woken up to an electric alarm, and, to be honest, I could've done without it. Newt fumbled with the alarm clock, but I was already awake.

"You set an alarm? Are you crazy?" I yawned, sitting up and shaking out my messy hair.

"Today…*yawn*…is a big day. We're gonna get our memories back hopefully. I had to make sure we didn't sleep through it." Rolling my eyes, I replied, "Sleep is a better opportunity than any, Newt."

"Did ol' wise man tell you that?" he laughed.

"He sure did." I dragged myself to my room to change. When I opened up my closet, there was a sudden pain in my chest. Usually, there was a tank top and shorts or something waiting for me somewhere, but what hung in front of me was familiar. Only when I put it on did I recognize it fully. What I was wearing was the same outfit I came through the box in—the navy skirt, white ruffle blouse, and blue leather overall straps. Even the boots in the closet were the same. I peered in the mirror, fixed my hair in the same pull-trough ponytail I had it the first day, and met Newt in the cafeteria. His expression hardened.

"You don't have to wear that you know," he remarked. His voice gave the impression that he was disgusted by the outfit.

"What's with the sudden hatred for it?" I asked. Newt looked at me with eyes softening from repulsion to grief. Then, he slipped his fingers in between my own. It was surprising to come to the cold conclusion that the enervated Newt was the only Newt left.

"When I see you in that," he told me, "I see how much the Glade changed us. WICKED found a way to shape our lives into whatever mold they chose. We didn't even resist. Not once…"

If their plan was to change us in every shape, form, and fashion, they'd succeeded. But if it was to make us feel inferior to any power they upheld, they only made it halfway.


	37. The Plan to Escape and the Steak Knife

**Hey Gladers,**

**Sorry for bejng so late on the update, but I've finished this story, and I'm only touching some things up. This chapter is shorter but it really gets serious. The truth will be revealed. But it might not be what you were searching for. Enjoy!**

**Keep running.**

**~M&amp;M**

_Chapter 37~ The Plan to Escape and The Steak Knife_

Here was my plan of attack. Please pay close attention, because I'm not repeating it. While getting dressed that morning when I woke up in Newt's arms, I devised a meticulous plan. All the while, the burning reminder of Newt's disapproval of what I was doing cut into my chest as a knife would. But I shook off the feeling easily when I recalled Cott's dying words—words she never should've had to say. After drawing it out a bit in my mind and including certain variables, I came up with my final plan. The actual "putting it into action" part went sort of like this:

The cafeteria was quite barren of WICKED officials other than two guards. Usually, I wouldn't have been bothered by this. Of course, this would follow if they didn't have fully loaded guns lowered in their arms. Their faces were grim and flecked with disgust—like we were animals that needed taming. The Gladers were packed together at two tables, something also different than normal. Expressions of fear were darkened on the faces of the girls. Worry cloaked the boys. It didn't help with me stepping out and everyone who hadn't heard what happened the night before jumping up. I walked up, calmed them down, and explained as best I could. Afterwards, I squeezed between Oscar and Newt. Oscar looked tired but managed to ask how I was doing.

"Fine," I claimed, "but I keep going weak and stumbling at moments. I need something to eat badly." When I got a tray and breakfast, I could taste my own hunger in my throat. The agony of yesterday had returned, but when I bit into a green apple, the pungent bitterness of ash flooded my mouth. Hot smoke and grimy flavors choked me until I bit the bullet and swallowed it. _Why was this happening to me? What happened while I was gone?_

I tried eating again, but nothing tasted any different. Against my stomach's pleads, I ignored the food. My plan wouldn't work if I was weak from hunger. _Eat it, Heart. You've been through worse._

And so I got the rest of it down, trying to chew quickly and keep my mind off of the suffocating flavor. Newt and Oscar were chatting over video games they remembered. Everyone was so engrossed in conversations that they failed to notice Dr. Janson who had walked in with a dark smirk on his lips. My eyes followed him to the center of the cafeteria.

"Good morning, everyone. Today, we will be returning your memories to you and will be sorting out your arrangements from here on out. In a half an hour, I'll need everyone sorted in a single-file line, so we can lead you to several rooms. In these rooms, we'll be privately discussing your experience and thoughts concerning the Maze Trials. We promise not to take up too much of your time, so we can return what is rightfully yours. Until this time, enjoy your morning." He walked away through a pair of double doors guarded by the armed men. The new silence didn't last for long and was replaced with the chattering of us remaining. I stayed silent, devising my plan and working in what Janson had said. Inside my lungs, I had the heavy feeling we were never going to get our memories back to begin with.

I walked back to the cafeteria food counter, slipped a metal steak knife in my sleeve while examining a pear for bruises, and took it back to the table with me. Then, I tucked it in my boot and waited, blending in with everyone else.

The cafeteria, droning with voices of unrecognizing teenagers, was nothing compared to the nervous pit at the bottom of my stomach. A clock on the wall was my only reminder that my heart hadn't stopped beating.

"Heart," came a softened voice across from me, "are you okay?" Newt's hand was cupping my own, and I pulled it back into my lap. "Of course."

Footsteps hollowed out our sound and grabbed back our attention. Janson, proud and unescorted, gazed at us as if we were everything he could never be. My guesses…young, justified, and not in cohorts with WICKED. He held a gray clipboard in his arms.

"Through the doors," said he, "We will choose some of you to answer some questions we have. Afterwards, we'll lead you to a lab where we'll be removing the Swipe. It may take up to an hour. Please form a straight single-file line in front of those doors." He pointed to the same doors with the armed men. At first, the Gladers hesitated but did as instructed. The doors opened with the ring of a red buzzer. Janson came to the front of the line, weaving us through hallways. I was doing my best to memorize the directions we were turning. I'd need to escape pretty quickly, and I didn't have time to get lost. We finally came to a stop in front of four doors. We were told to stand against the wall.

"Minho, Tim, Rob, and Mandy." The four stood, Minho tossing Newt and Alby a confused look, then entered their directed doors. The rest of us sat on the floor. Newt, next to me, held my hand in his own. His grip screamed how terrified he really was.

"It's gonna be okay," I whispered in his ear. His breath stilled, and he closed his eyes.

"Why do people say that when they know it's not true?" This comment sent memories from way back through the floodgates. I'd heard it said so many times that the phrase became meaningless. It no longer was something said to calm someone else. It was used to get your mind off the situation instead. And I reacted to the term the same every time. It was never going to be okay no matter how many times I said it to myself or Newt.

I was never a lovey-dovey person. You could tell by my attitude. Newt didn't make me lovey-dovey and neither did my friends. So I wasn't clinging onto Newt in a desperate passion-filled attempt to fled the headquarters while the time passed. Nearly an hour had gone by. Minho and the rest had exited during the first half. More had gone in after. Minho had a look of hollowness. His face was starch white, and his movements were robotic, rigid. Right as he'd come out, Newt stood then grasped his arm. "Mate, you look like you've met death. What'd they bloody do to you in there?" Minho's eyes, slicked with the hollow chill of fear, sliced right through his best friend's.

"They told me the truth," he growled lowly.

I saw it first.

Minho slithered out of Newt's grasp and latched his left hand tight on his arm—the veins in his hand protruded uglily.

"Minho-"

Then, he moved to Newt's ear where he whispered something, his grasp becoming more serious every second. We were holding our breath, terrified Minho would do something hostile. I stood too, ready to shove back Minho, but before I could, the guards were on him. The two were dragging him back behind the door we all entered through. He struggled, fighting against them and hollering. That's when his eyes met mine. He stopped frantically thrashing about.

"Heart," screamed Minho, appearing more distraught than ever, "He's not here! He's lying to you! Heart, he's your-"

By that time, they shoved him out, leaving us alone and me shaking out of my skin. I remained there, staring back at the now closed door and wishing, just wishing, they'd let him finish his words. Two seconds later—not enough time for me to comprehend the events—Janson exited a door as well as everyone else.

"Alright. Our last group consists of Newt, Hilly, Heart, and Clint."

I approached Janson without hesitation and stopped right in front of him.

"What did you do to Minho?" I seethed. He didn't flinch at my words.

"Minho was only told what he deserved to hear. So will you." Janson opened the door behind him. I peered inside and found a small concrete room with a simple table and two metal chairs. A door was across the room. My eyes scanned everywhere for Newt. But the other three doors were closed. Everyone was staring back at me.

_He's not here! He's lying to you!_

_He's not here!_

Janson grabbed the back of my blouse and shoved me inside. Minho was never a hostile person. He must've hidden clues in his sudden madness. He told Newt something, and I would've given anything to hear what it was. Out of confusion and overcoming terror, I backed into the center of the room and watched the door bolt shut.

"Sit. Please," Janson crooned. And I did quite willingly. A second more of standing and I might've passed out. As I sat there and mulled over Minho's warning, the answer started to swim out of the haze. Someone hadn't lined up with us before leaving the cafeteria.


	38. The Most Dysfunctional Family

**Hey Gladers, **

**This is the dreaded chapter (at least for me). I've finished this story, and I'm working on the epilogue. I can truthfully say that I think I've done this fanfiction justice. This chapter and I have a love-hate relationship. The plot of it is great along with my character's actions, but I wanna crawl into a hole after I edited it. Anywho, enjoy it!**

**P.s. To the person who reviewed as good but Heart's name was "cheesy and really stupid":**

**Not cool, man.**

**Not cool.**

**Keep running.**

**~M&amp;M**

_Chapter 38~ The Most Dysfunctional Family _

Lights overhead flickered when Janson sat. I turned back around to see no guard by the door. _Minho, hold on for a bit. We're getting out of here._

For several seconds, he did nothing but watch me hate him. The space between us was not enough to hold the anger in my veins. I could feel the steak knife still hidden in my boot. Janson continued to stare.

"Stop it," I growled at him. He smirked and sat up.

"Sorry, I just couldn't help but wonder. What was it like?"

"What was what like?

"Being there," Janson answered, "Knowing you were different but not understanding why. Not being able to say anything. You had nothing, Amelia. You were nothing. Yet, you managed to lead that ragtag group out of our maze."

"You're wrong," I said concisely. Janson leaned back into his chair, his eyebrows raised in surprised and his eyes alight with sarcasm. He knew he was more powerful than me; he just wanted to flaunt it around to his liking.

"Oh?" Janson commented, sarcasm coating his lips.

I replied, "I had Cott. Then, you took her away from me, from everyone. You tried to break me, but you forgot one thing. You forgot about her—about Cott. She's what made me different not anything WICKED did."

Janson smiled then cocked his head a bit to the side.

"That right; you are different but not just because of Catherine. You have abilities that evaded our eyes for a while. You were never supposed to be like you are now. You, Amelia, were supposed to die that first night you ran into the Maze. That Griever should've seen and killed you. That would've left Catherine to take up a leader role. But you surviving changed all of that. She was supposed to be our game-changer. Not you. And your death would've meant her survival."

The words hit like a stake to the chest. She really wasn't meant to die. I was. Janson seemed to enjoy my situation. I choked few words out, "I'm not leaving this room alive, am I?"

"No," Janson, sighed, "you're not. Here's the truth—and you can believe it because I no longer have a reason to lie to you—You changed our results, so there's going to be two more Maze Trials. One will have boys and one girl. The other will have girls and one boy. We're calling them Group A and Group B. You all were Group C. See, we're short on time. If you haven't noticed, the world is ending." My eyes instinctively shut. All I could think of was Newt. He had no clue that he was going to be running the Maze all over again. I just hoped when they would take Newt's memories again, they'd make sure to hide the one including me. I didn't want Newt ever remembering me before or after his next Maze Trials.

"Let me have one last thing," I concluded, accepting the fact that I was going to die in mere hours.

"What's that?"

"Tell me everything."

The Flare was not a disaster caused by the sun. It was created by man-kind to resolve the problem of over-population. WICKED had indeed existed before The Flare even occurred.

"I hadn't become apart of this until The Flare broke out. Before that, I was a mayor of a small town in Michigan. I lived with my two kids and my wife. But my family was soon broken up. WICKED was my only way out, my only protection."

"Then, you're a coward." Janson froze at my comment. I was gripping the arm rests of my chair. Janson was a rat. He, along with the rest of WICKED, ruined humanity. He didn't deserve to have a family anymore.

"What?" he muttered, looking at me in surprise.

"I said you're a coward. You didn't put up a fight. You're a sick son-of-a-b**ch, Janson. Your family didn't deserve that. And you didn't deserve them. Don't you feel guilty? You are in charge of the most inhumane organization ever. You work with the people who caused worldwide genocide! The biggest massacre ever! How can you live with yourself?" My expectations were to take him by surprise and actually catch him in a blind moment. Instead, he smiled and chuckled softly. "That's funny you said that. Powerful words for a girl like you. Last time I saw you, you were terrified of the outside world. You were one of the biggest supporters of WICKED. Know why? Because your father worked for them. So did your brother."

My breath was caught in my throat. He knew about my family. Janson looked down to his watch.

"Oh, it's already time. I have something to show you, Amelia."

"I don't want to see anything."

"But you're going to see it or else I'll kill your Minho. It only takes one bullet to the brain." Janson reached into his jacket pocket and retrieved an electronic tablet. He tapped in some keys on the screen and video feed appeared. Newt was sitting at a table in a room identical to the one I was in.

"What is this?" I inquired, confused and slightly afraid.

"This is the video feed of Newt's session."

"_I was a pretty good Runner. Minho was always better though_", said Newt. He drummed his fingers against his leg, a nervous habit of his.

"_Was it dangerous to be a Runner?_" asked the interviewer sitting across from him.

"_Of course. We'd get hurt an awful lot_."

"_Were you hesitant on making Heart a Runner?_" This question caused Newt to pause. I was brought into topic. I could tell Newt was uncomfortable with talking about me in front of WICKED. He swallowed hard.

"_Yes. I mean, I had feelings for her. I didn't want to put her in danger but it was all for a good cause_."

"_And what cause was this_?"

"_Heart is different. She's able to escape Grievers, and she's one of the most clever people I know_." The interviewer smirked, scribbled something on his clipboard, coughed into his fist.

"_Great. Did she ever mention anything about her family? Did she remember much about them?_" Newt squirmed in his seat, obviously eager to leave. He knew that they only brought him in to get information about me.

"_Uh, yeah. She remembered her father and brother. That's all I really know though_." The man wrote one last thing on his clipboard and set it down.

"_Henry, I'm going to tell you the real reason we brought you in today. We know all this about Amelia already. We wanted to see how you'd act around us. But you must also be wondering why we brought in your girlfriend and asked so many questions about her. That's because Amelia has a role too. She was supposed to die the night she first came across that Griever. Cott was destined to survive because of Amelia's death. When your girlfriend came out alive, that screwed us all over. Five minutes ago, Amelia was told every secret WICKED ever had. And…fourteen seconds ago, she was shot in the head and killed. I-_"

Newt leaped up knocking back his chair.

"_What?_"

"_She was killed, Henry_."

"_You're lying. You wouldn't kill her. She's too valuable to you_."

"_Yes. And, normally, we wouldn't ever touch her. But Amelia isn't normal—wasn't normal—at all_."

"_Don't say that! She's not dead! You're lying! Let me see her! Let me out now!_" Newt had fallen into a rage of screaming and throwing things across the room. He kept gripping his hair and yelling at the interviewer who was trying to calm Newt down. The boy's cheeks were tainted with tears and the dark circles from his sleep deprivation. He looked dead.

I shoved myself back, stumbled, and collapsed to the floor. It was no longer just me they were ruining but Newt also. Newt. Janson turned off the video and looked down at me.

"Now, that we've had that taken care of-"

It only took a flick of my wrist to climb up, snatch the knife out of my boot, and tackle Janson to ground. Profanities were being screamed out of my mouth at the speed of light. My knife was being held back by him but inched closer to his ugly face slowly.

"You ruined our lives!" I yelled, projecting all my might into trying to sink the knife in Janson's chest.

"You're making a mistake," Janson said as calmly as possible. Though I don't know how you could stay calm when you're about to be murdered.

"No, you're the one who did that! You made the mistake of killing Cott and my brother! WICKED shouldn't have put us the Maze, and they shouldn't have touched our families! If you think you've won, you're wrong! You will _never_ win–"

The clunk of a heavy door sounded in front of us. While I was struggling to stab Janson, a certain voice said three certain words, and my world fell apart…just like that.

"Heart, stop it!" I tossed my head up to see and froze. There, in front of the world and holding a handgun pointed at my forehead was my best friend Oscar. He looked exactly the same other than his clothes were different. He no longer wore WICKED-issued clothes but an Hollister navy flannel button-up, jeans, and gray Vans. All this shouldn't have made him look like an entirely new person. The gun did the trick; it brought out a cold-hearted attribute in him, something Oscar never acquired.

"Put down the knife!" he yelled, swallowing down his fear and barely shaking fingers. He was _scared_ of me. My eyes were welded onto him; nothing in the world could've separated them. Janson used this to his advantage and snatched the knife out of my frozen fingertips. He then shoved me off and climbed to his feet. There they both were, pointing weapons at me. I saw the resemblance.

There was a strange silence that couldn't be replicated in any other way I could think of except telling your husband you're pregnant with someone else's baby or maybe having your dog shot in front of you. My thoughts were quite limited.

"Oscar…?" I whispered, surprised I could even speak. Immediately, Minho's warning returned.

_He's not here! He's lying to you!_

_He's not here!_

Oscar was the only one who didn't line up with us. He looked back at me with the same expression as when he apologized for running into the Maze.

"Days after you arrived in the Glade, I had this feeling. I knew we had a relationship—a connection, and I would've given anything to get an explanation. Don't think I'm betraying you or anything. We were all with WICKED at some point—especially you. I got my memories back during your disappearance. We were wrong, Heart. WICKED isn't here to hurt us."

I closed my eyes and got to my feet. I considered that ba***rd a friend—a best friend.

"Oscar," I began, "when I was beaten up by Gally and went unconscious, someone came and talked to me. I always assumed it was Newt, but it wasn't, was it?"

His breath was shaky, and the beginnings of tears were in his eyes. His was as nervous as I and just as weak.

"No."

I knew the truth. I couldn't deny it anymore. Abe was never my brother. He never had the slightest relationship with me. My real brother knew I was his sister the whole time and hid it. I guess keeping secrets was a habit shared by both of us. He played me. And I'd never forgive Oscar for it.


	39. Write Me a Song When I Die

**Hey Gladers,**

**This story is complete and the second book is being started, so it'll be a short break between the end of this one and start of the next one. Have a happy turkey day!**

**Need a chapter theme song?**

**Try: "When The Darkness Comes Pt. 2" by Shelby Merry**

**Keep running.**

**~M&amp;M**

Chapter 39~ Write Me a Song When I Die

If you've ever reached the conclusion that you're completely out of friends, you'd know how quickly and how sharply it attacks you. I'd lost Oscar and Cott. All that was left was Minho and Newt. What I wanted to do included crying, killing Janson, beating the hell out of Oscar, and shooting myself—not all in that order. It seemed ever since I'd began my new life, I'd been led on a path that consisted of only pain, death, heartbreak, and backstabbing. The overwhelmingly terrible moments outweighed the pleasant ones. And I wasn't sure how much more of it I could endure. So, I made a quick checklist just to make sure I was keeping up.

My name was not Heart. My name was Amelia. I'm probably sixteen by now. I'm fresh out of friends.

My brother is in cahoots with WICKED. Oh, and his real identity is my best friend Oscar.

Newt, also identified as Henry, thinks I'm dead, and I will be soon. Minho is probably getting the sh** beaten out of him because he warned me of Oscar.

Apparently, we can save the world.

"Shoot me," I whispered, taking a step forward. Oscar was still pointing the gun at me, but his shaking hands had faded to small trembles.

"I'm not going to do that, Heart."

"Why not?! I bet you would've to Cott! I bet you wouldn't have hesitated! I bet you never told her either! You're an a**hole, and I hate you!" He dropped the gun, walked up to me, and slapped me across the face. The sting lingered for seconds longer than normal.

"Shut up. You know you don't. Cott meant as much to me as she did to you. I never turned my back on her. Yes, I knew you were my sister since the beginning. I didn't tell you because everyone was already suspicious of you. Maybe, if you stopped drawing attention to yourself, I would've told you sooner. Besides…Dad told me it would ruin the results…"

_Dad?!_

I looked up to him, confusion draining the color from my face. I looked to Janson, hoping for some explanation to what Oscar was saying. Was our father—my father—at the headquarters? Janson smirked, gave the knife to Oscar, and put his hands in his front pockets. Oscar went back to the dropped gun and held it in his other hand, still aimed at me.

"They didn't let me in the room when they executed your mother. They said I would make irrational decisions and get myself killed in the process. So, they let me speak to you two as a father for the last time. It was heartbreaking, I tell you, because I couldn't tell you your mother was dying at the very moment. I wasn't strong enough for that. So, I gave you the blanket, Amelia, and gave Oscar the watch. It was the last things you could have as memories of your old lives." Janson looked at me, a kinder expression on his face.

"You deserve to know that you played a huge role to the world, sweetheart. Before I joined WICKED, you led a secret rebel army with the mission to protect the survivors of the Flare. You were a _solider_ and the best da** one I've ever seen. You still have that blood running through you too. And you'll be happy to know Catherine was also in your army and worked on the architecture of safety camps in her free time. Oscar worked transportation of survivors and material. Both of you were incredibly gifted, clever, goodhearted, and immune. That's why WICKED wanted you so badly; that's why I let them take you.

"From the start and on, I always wanted the best for you two. Words cannot express how much I love you. I'm truly sorry for hiding it from you. But you must know, I only had to because of the Trials."

There was an ill silence in the air that held onto my heartstrings and and vowed to never let go. The gun remained pointed at me, and I couldn't help but wonder why the trigger hadn't been pulled yet. And in those moments of my worst nightmares, I thought back to a time in the Glade with Cott and I. It was after the bonfire, and we were cleaning up the mess the Gladers liked to make. We talked for a bit about things that we'd never say in front of anyone else…like complaining about periods and how WICKED sometimes didn't send up enough stuff, sappy romance movies and books we loved to hate, and, of course, guys. I'd never mentioned Newt, and Cott had never mentioned Gally. It was an unspoken rule that those two were to remain nameless throughout our mundane conversations. But we'd talk about Oscar, and I recalled what we would say. We'd make a joke about how he needs to take more showers and stop rubbing dirt all over himself. I'd ask why Cott never had any feelings for Oscar. She'd reply in a sarcastic joke then answer seriously, but with a different response. But after our topic of Oscar had ended, Cott would remark one same thing every single time: Oscar has a way to make you feel like you were born his best friend. I had pondered on that too many times to count, but never came up with an explanation to its meaning. On our last night in the Glade, I'd reached a verdict. Oscar could make you feel like his best friend, because, no matter how hard you'd try otherwise, that's what he'd always see you as.

So in that quietness and in that rigid, frozen air, I questioned everything but came up with nothing. Oscar had made me feel forever as his best friend, but it wasn't up to me if he'd still see me that way. That would be his real test. I stared at the floor, then at my hands, then at Janson.

"It was always like that I suppose. Everything was done for the soul purpose of the Trials. See, you didn't care about our lives. You stared at the big picture for so long and became oblivious to the details. I'm not going to stand here and preach to you about how WICKED ruined our lives—even though, just so we're clear, they did. I want to ask you a single question. And please answer truthfully; I have a good feeling it'll be the last question I ever ask. What was WICKED's true goal?"

Even this made Oscar turn to look at Janson. The man was put on the spot, just like I'd been. He was searching his mind for the right answer, the one that wouldn't get him killed by Ava. But whether he told the truth or spat out a pathetic lie, the look in his eyes would tell me exactly what I was searching for.

"At first," Janson answered, "WICKED's goal for humanity was to decrease the population. They thought it would solve everything…world hunger, global warming, pollution. They thought they had the key to everything, but they were still faced with the fact that what they planned to do was extremely immoral. WICKED was able to get past this little bump in the road quite easily and created a virus. It was meant to wipe out a small fraction of the population and stop there. Unfortunately, it spread like wildfire all across the Earth. In a matter of days, WICKED had accidentally created a genocide, an epidemic, an apocalypse if you will. We tried to evacuate people to safe havens, but there were too many. WICKED thought they had control of the virus. In reality, it was the other way around. Tirelessly, we worked to find some way to stop it—a cure. And, yes, there is one. But the only way to reach it was to study the minds of the young, the uninfected, and the immune. And so we built the Maze. We created Grievers. We gave you all new lives. I don't think it was enough. I don't think it ever will be."

The beginnings of tears glazed over his eyes and begged for the person I used to be to return. In one horrendously quick motion, my father stole away the handgun from Oscar and trained its barrel at me.

"I'm not stupid! I see it on your face. You don't understand, Amelia. You aren't the same; I want my daughter back and no removal of the Swipe is going to do that. I thought you'd be proud of your title. You're the Solider. Though you may fight for your friends, and for love, and for all the valuable crap in the world, your punishment is that you will never stop fighting."

There was a lot of sound, then throbbing pain in my left shoulder, then silence and darkness.


	40. The Story Ended

**Hey Gladers,**

**The time has come for me to tell you that this is the last chapter before the epilogue. This has been one of the best tears because I was able to write this fanfiction. Thank you so much. Though it may be cliché, I really wouldn't have been able to do it all without you guys. Thank you tons. This was all for you.**

**Keep running.**

**P.s. Need a chapter theme song? Try:**

**"The Greatest Bastard" by Damien Rice**

**~M&amp;M**

_Chapter 40~ The Story Ended_

Let's say you made it. Let's just imagine that you lived long enough to escape WICKED's grasp. But all your friends were left behind. The people you loved died for your personal survival.

You spend months contemplating on how death would've been a more merciful punishment than what you received. Twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week, reminding yourself they'd died for nothing and feeling the guilt afterwards. It's backbreaking work, I tell you. Then, you'd find something else to keep your mind off of the pain you usually suffer through. You spend more and more time building a new life. But your mistake is that, even for a second, you believed that things could get better for you. Things could turn around, change. Then, you lose everything once again, endure the same punishment as before, and the cycle repeats itself.

But you don't give up. Why not? If you know what will happen, if you know things will always end poorly, why do you continue on? I'm still trying to answer that question myself.

Then the lights came on…just like that. Though I was blind for nearly five minutes. When finally my vision was restored, I could make out a small room with sturdy walls. The floors were carpeted, and dry bloodstains leading from the door to me tainted the flooring. I followed the trace to my body which lied comfortably on a white medical bed, with dry bloodstains where my left shoulder was. I glanced down and saw it covered up and stiff with numbing medicine and bandage wraps. But the bloodstains on the bed were dried. Mistakingly, I attempted to sit up. Immediately, a low groan of painful aching blossomed from the wound, all the way down my left arm, and throughout my chest. Grunting and clenching my jaw, I got to a sitting position. I was in a quaint outfit, something very familiar but from where I couldn't recall. My hair hung limp and distressed in waves. There were many things I could've boggled at in the room, but I instead held a steady gaze with a tired bracelet hanging around my wrist. It was cream-colored braided cloth and tied messily. I touched it and was very tempted to toss it away, to forget all about the meaningless thing. Yet, It felt like doing so would result in me regretting it later on, so I let the thing be. Instead, I hauled myself up, found the nearest pocket mirror and looked. There, in the reflection, was a girl staring back. She had messy, dirty hair and silver, wide eyes. She looked just as scared as I, maybe even a bit more. And she looked confused out of her mind. She touched her face, and then the glass. When I noticed I could touch her as well, I shut the mirror with so much force and tossed it onto the bed. Something was wrong.

I tossed open the closet door in the far side of the room and glanced at a single white coat on one side of the rack. I plucked it up and turned it over. The thing was a lab coat, as white as the room surrounding me. I traced every stitch until I found seven words sewed over the breast pocket: Amelia Janson, Logic and Brain Wave Specialist. My fingers grazed the letters, and I remembered _everything_.

_Newt_

From the beginning, we'd worked to prove we weren't mice in a huge, unforgiving maze. It was what we devoted our energy to. But, ultimately, there was nothing else for us to be. Our arrival to the headquarters only proved it. My main concern was that I'd put on a good enough show for WICKED. Of course I didn't believe a word they said. WICKED would never have killed Heart after finding out how different and special she was. But, looking in that officials eyes, I could see all they wanted from me was a reaction; so I gave them my best. After I'd "calmed down", the man led me back out the door with a polite, "I'm sorry for your loss".

Outside, WICKED was lining us up once again, but Janson was absent. I looked all over for Heart in the mass of people. Minho was gone as well as she. The panic trickled down my throat like cough syrup, thick and bitter. A tall African American man stood at the front of the line, clutching his gun as a noticeable warning.

"Now," he called, "there's only one last thing to do—restore your memories. If you'll follow me, I can lead you back to your true lives. Don't stray behind." The man pushed open the door and lead us into the hallway, not slowing down as he weaved through halls. It gave me an uncanny sense of déjà vu. The walk from the interrogation rooms to wherever the hell we were headed was short-lived but brimming with suspense whether it was good, bad, or confusing. But soon enough, we'd gotten to the room. The hallway had opened up, but the man leading us stopped. He stepped aside and the door opened.

Janson exited, straightened his tie, coughed in the crook of his elbow, and centered his attention on us.

"Ah, well, now that the interviews have been taken care of, it's time to finish all of this. I can take five at a time with me, but don't worry. The process doesn't take long. And you won't feel a thing. First up: Geoff, Darius, Lizzy, Newt, and Hanx."

We separated from the line and met Janson at the front. He took a glance at me, coughed once again into his elbow, and opened the door.

"Expect us out in about thirty minutes. Enjoy your new freedom."

Inside the room, five medical chairs were positioned with all the little gadgets to go along with them. Above the chairs was an extremely bright light, illuminating the whole room more than necessary. Five adults austerely stood inside, one person for each chair. Medical masks covered their noses and mouths. Cold, grim fear drained out the remaining courage I'd acquired. The other four people were directed chairs to sit in while I was locked in place, watching one of my biggest fears unfolding in front of me—having no control and falling into anarchy. Janson was soon beside me.

"Newt, here." He motioned to an empty chair with a short woman beside it. Stiffly, I seated myself in it and attempted to lie back. But my nerves were rocks. Janson stood on the other side of me while the woman flashed a light in my eye to dilate my pupils. My dismay was becoming manifest in a matter of seconds. My breathing pace quickened, my face was heating up, and I couldn't stop my foot from shaking. Janson looked me directly in the eye and said, "Newt, are you sure you're okay going through with this?" My blood boiled.

"Why so compassionate all of a sudden?" I snapped, not a second too late.

"I suppose it was after you had a full-blown tantrum in the interrogation room."

I opened my mouth to comment back, but closed and swallowed hard when a tingling sensation exploded in my arm. I peered down and witnessed my blood being taken and a draining feeling coming from the same arm. My stomach flipped. _Focus. Focus now._

"Is she dead?" I murmured, turning my head away from the man.

"I should think," asserted the cold-blooded man, "your inquirer would've cleared this up with you."

"I don't care what anyone else says. I want to know now. Is Heart—Amelia—dead?"

Janson paused to look down then to look at me. Something about the topic made him uneasy. But he knew, and it pained him to speak about it.

"Yes," he affirmed, a crack in his voice that would only be noticed with a great deal of detail, "we had to kill Amelia, because she knew too much, and she was interfering with our plans. It was quick. I promise. And her last words were about how much she cared for you."

My reaction was subtle at first. My lungs thickened, and my throat tightened. I was suffocating with no possible way of escaping. Everything. Just. Broke. I felt like a china doll, shattered beyond repair but still fun to look at…still fun to play with the broken shards.

"You're not giving us our memories back."

"In actuality, I'll be putting everyone here to sleep, hiding the memories, creating new ones, and sending you back into the Maze. Hopefully, we'll get it right this time. You were so very correct in your journal, Newt. WICKED is God." Janson picked up a laughing gas mask and placed it over my mouth. The bright light became dim. The time ran out. The story ended.


	41. Epilogue

_Epilogue_

I feel describing the last forty chapters as a tragedy would be a tragedy in itself. It was not a romance, nor an adventure, nor an epic. In all honesty, I don't know what it was. Perhaps, I'll look back on this one day and finally decide. But for the time being, it remains as a story.

I began writing this story far before I began to share it. And the idea came from a picture of a girl in a field. She had the exact look of my desired character and possessed the same poise. Along with the scenery I just saw the outline forming in my mind. The rest is fuzzy. But I fell in love with Heart just as I did with Cott and Oscar. Heart represents truth (though she tends to keep secrets an awful lot). Oscar represents friendship. And Cott represents society and the "words that never got spoken". That line was centered around a lot because it translates in so many ways. For instance, it could mean change that never occurs due to everyone else's fear. It could mean the regrets people have from the actions they did or the horrible dreams about their past that people would experience. Or it could literally mean things no one ever said to each other, though, that also ties in with regrets. However you take it, Cott had a huge impact on the story as a whole. That's why she is my favorite.

From the chapter that Newt and Heart fought and Heart angrily confessed her love for Newt, I've tried to describe their relationship. Now, I feel like Newt reminds Heart of her good side. He is what she constantly fights for. Switched gender roles!

Newt sees Heart as his personal beacon of hope. Scarily enough, he also sees her as a cure. Not to the Flare, but to himself. Newt feels most "himself" when around Heart, just like she feels that he is her most precious thing in the world. It works out so well, because of their mutual compassion for each other's problems and their ability to aid in whatever way possible. Gally's attachment to Cott is complicated because of the rough patches. Although, these rough patches were there on purpose due to WICKED. Because, from the beginning, Cott was meant to be the "hero" instead of Heart. And every hero needs a difficult and bumpy past; Gally would've been hers. As this didn't work out, Heart got away with several things. This situation between the two turned Gally's heart bitter.

Heart was born Amelia McLemore Janson and originally had the given name of "Era". Her name was based off of Amelia Earhart, and role and actions were to be similar to that of the real female pilot. She was supposed to make a great journey (in the Maze) and mysteriously disappear without a body left behind. In reality, her role did play out like Amelia Earhart's but in a different way. Heart became a hero and changed feminism widely, like Earhart had done. Heart did disappear without a trace but first defied limitations and made a change. In her past life, she formed a secret army to rebel against WICKED in its early stages. Her father, Janson, led it, but Heart was second-in-command. This gives insight on Heart's fighting skills that she didn't remember learning. Her mother was Jessie Janson and had no role in the army. She worked as a journalist and gave birth to both Amelia and Oscar. Though, she was shot and killed when trying to rescue her children from WICKED. Heart has become dear to me not only because she represents a character unlike Thomas but still remaining main, but also because she develops a lot and gathers compassion for people that she didn't have before. She's a wonderful girl and I'm proud to call her mine.

I will cry if I have to explain Cott more in depth, so I'll talk about Oscar. Oscar was born Oscar Darien Joseph Janson and had the codename "Oscar". Amelia and he are the only characters with their codenames alike, if not the same, to their birth names. His name is based off of author Oscar Wilde, and some of his actions were similar to the man's. Oscar, like Wilde, lived a false life and kept a secret that would eventually get him in trouble. Oscar appeared as a lovable friend that always had your back. He'd known about his relation to Heart since Janson entered his mind and told him, much like he did to Heart. Before that, Oscar's intentions were harmless. Poisoned with that sudden knowledge, Oscar attempted to protect his newfound sister. Though, his interests morphed into jealousy over her role and the fact that she was special. In the end, Oscar did always have the lingering protectiveness for her, though he may have projected it the wrong way before.

Abe was born Brett Winter Shore, son of Dr. Shore who makes an appearance in the story. He has the codename "Abe" and is based off of the US president Abraham Lincoln. There isn't much connection between these two people other than appearance. Likewise to Lincoln, Abe is slender, very tall, has messy brown hair, and a strong jaw. Action-wise, there's nothing alike. Abe is not a character to be angry at for his decisions; he is to be pitied. He had a rough connection with Reth. In a way, I see Gally and Abe very similar. They both present wrong choices when losing a loved one. Gally reacted by pushing Cott away and growing cold. Abe completely masked his madness. He is true evil and played Heart perfectly into the murder of Cott. Unlike Oscar, Abe knew his intentions from the beginning.

Cott, my personal favorite character, was born Catherine Gracie Adams. She has the codename "Cott" and is based off of novelist Louisa May Alcott. Cott is meant to be a strong feminist and courageous, like Alcott. Cott never had a boyfriend (a reference to Alcott never marrying). Both females believed in gaining personal growth from nature and people. They were also in opposition of nature being conquered by man. They were independent, strong, and free-willed. One of the reasons why it was easy to write Cott was because she was like me. In her past life, Cott was obsessed with quoting all of her reading material. She was, in fact, best friends with Amelia. Cott served in Heart's army and built some of their bases. She was a brilliant girl with keen eyes. And I love her so much.

And so we've reached the point in time when I look back to what has been written and sigh, not because it's over but because so much is beginning. The night that Heart disappears for nearly four days is the night that everything changes. It's the night that Oscar returns to WICKED's side. It's the night that WICKED tests Heart forcefully, manipulates her thoughts, and erases those memories of being kidnapped. All the while, Heart is given no food and no water. This is why she cannot speak when awoken and feeling empty. Of course, she was on the brink of death due to dehydration. A lot of blood was taken, resulting in the grey skin and prominent veins. After this incident, Janson slowly comes to terms that his daughter needs "fixing". And this is the reason Heart is shot. In the next addition, you'll see Heart "fixed" by WICKED. You'll see a darker side to her family and to WICKED. But that's all I can reveal.

I have said everything I needed to say in this story. And I'm so excited for upcoming addition. So the biggest thank you I have goes out to people who favorited, followed, and read this story. It means so much to me to get support for this. I know it means as much to me as it does to you. Thank you! Thank you! And please stick around, because I promise more. Also, check out some of my other stuff. I'm bound to have something you're into. A final huge thank you for absolutely everything. Heart wouldn't have existed without you guys.

One last piece of advice: Be careful. Don't die. WICKED is good.


	42. Ain't No Rest For The WICKED playlist

**"Ain't No Rest For the WICKED" playlist:**

_"Hard Time Killing Floor Blues"_ by Chris Thomas King

_"Tennis Court"_ by Lorde

_"Leave it Alone"_ by Broken Bells

_"Still Sane"_ by Lorde

_"Dark in my Imagination"_ by of Verona

_"Sail"_ by AWOLNATION

_"Stay Alive"_ by José González

_"A Moment's Grace"_ by Boy &amp; Bear

_"Here with Me"_ by Susie Suh

_"In For The Kill"_ by Billie Marten

_"The Scorch"_ by Shelby Merry

_"Death with Dignity"_ by Sufjan Stevens

_"Fail For You"_ by Luke Sital-Singh

_"When The Darkness Comes Pt. 2"_ by Shelby Merry

_"The Greatest Bastard"_ by Damien Rice

_"Primavera"_ by Ludovico Einaudi


End file.
